Word from Luanda
by 
James Graham
|
Posted: Saturday, July 5, 2014 Word Count: 105 Summary: A reworking of a poem I wrote many years ago. You don’t want to see the original! Sorry it’s so grim, though the very last word may counteract that a little. As far as I know it’s a true incident. One of many. |
Word from Luanda
where, in 1832, seven hundred blacks
were gathered, shackled, blessed, and stowed.
A priest who spoke their language promised
Brazil or Heaven. Some five days out
one woman and five men escaped
as far as the boat-deck. All
struck down, cast overboard.
Remaining cargo checked, secured.
She was alive. The ocean washed
the blood from her eyes and mouth.
She had time to feel the monstrous
respiration of the waves, to know
there was no way but death. Perhaps
she thought of home, for she gave a cry,
a word that reached the departing deck,
and was not answered but remembered.
where, in 1832, seven hundred blacks
were gathered, shackled, blessed, and stowed.
A priest who spoke their language promised
Brazil or Heaven. Some five days out
one woman and five men escaped
as far as the boat-deck. All
struck down, cast overboard.
Remaining cargo checked, secured.
She was alive. The ocean washed
the blood from her eyes and mouth.
She had time to feel the monstrous
respiration of the waves, to know
there was no way but death. Perhaps
she thought of home, for she gave a cry,
a word that reached the departing deck,
and was not answered but remembered.