#BlaPoWriMo: Baby

Slick with afterbirth
is how I remember him–
if a moment can be
counted as a memory–
and Sir bragging that
he bred his finest,
will make him a
fortune, sell for more.

He was out of my arms
before he opened his
eyes, out of the room
before I heard his cries.
The delivery was hard,
I couldn’t move, couldn’t
work any. They let me
alone. I liked that–

For a time.

But it hurt to be still,
and when the milk came,
I had no mouth to feed.
So I got up, went
searching, found you.

You reached for me before
I bent to pick you up,
raised my blouse before
I put your head to my breast,
closed your lips around
the nipple, and I called
you baby. I call you
baby. Until one day
when I call you Sir.


Written for Black Poetry Writing Month (BlaPoWriMo). This year, we’re taking a journey through the different eras of black poetry and history. This week’s era is: slavery.

#BlaPoWriMo: Mammy (poem)

Baby’s crying—
I can’t feel my legs
Baby’s crying—
Six months since I bled
Baby’s crying—
Mista’s just left the room
Baby’s crying—
Missus comes with the broom
Baby’s crying!
She screams as she swings
Baby’s crying—
My swollen womb stings
Baby’s crying;
I rise to my chore
Baby’s crying,
as mine drips to the floor.



Written for today’s BlaPoWriMo prompt: write a poem for the weary slave.

It’s not to late too join Black Poetry Writing Month! Tag your poems with BlaPoWriMo so we can find you!