Thursday, February 27, 2014
Henrietta Marie, A Poem
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.
By Angeline Bandon-Bibum