Henrietta Marie, A Poem

Henrietta Marie

 

In my dream, I am a child, playing on the beach.

The air is warm and humid, as the waves of the Atlantic roll to shore.

 Briny and warm, the water feels soothing to my feet, ankles, calves, and knees.

The sun displays its affection for me, turning my skin from cinnamon, to sienna, then to mahogany.

In my pink bathing suit, I rush to greet a frothy wave, as it tumbles gracefully to shore.

On the horizon is a massive ship, of an ancient design, a schooner.

She floats, coming closer and closer to shore.  She captivates me; mouth open, I stare at her.

Christened “Henrietta Marie,” she is a slave ship.  A vessel designed to hold a living human cargo,

 

on wooden shelves, like canned fish.   I recognize her from my history book.

Henrietta Marie floats imperiously, her passengers

immersed in agony and humiliation.   She is gloriously gruesome.

Copyright 2006

By Angeline Bandon-Bibum

Respect and Appreciation for the Ancestors

As Black History Month comes to a close, l express my deep respect and appreciation for the numerous ancestors who often suffered brutal physical and mental abuse during the Transatlantic Slave Trade.  The artifacts from the wreckage of Henrietta Marie, a merchant slave ship from the 17th century, are some of the remaining symbols of the horrors of the Middle Passage, one stage in the Transatlantic Slave Trade, which took place over three centuries.
Transatlantic Slave Trade Henrietta Marie