Tag: enslaved

Hold On…

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photo by Joel DeWaard
photo by Joel DeWaard
photo by Joel DeWaard

Little soul,
you and I will become
the memory
of a memory of a memory.
A horse
released of the traces
forgets the weight of the wagon.
~Jane Hirshfield “Harness”

photo by Joel DeWaard
photo by Joel DeWaard
Field with Plowing Farmers by Vincent Van Gogh

My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
They touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories
Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands
They have many clean words to say.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not as they?
~Margaret Walker “Lineage”

photo by Joel DeWaard

In recognition of the history of Juneteenth...

So many years of shouldering huge burdens
while waiting for freedom from the harness:
grandmothers, grandfathers, parents, children
struggling through every ounce of sweat,
every sore muscle,
every drop of blood,
every tear.

How can one forget the weight of the plow
as it turns over the earth
where someday all will rest as dust?

The soil of strong hearts is well-tilled,
yielding to the plowshare,
furrowed deep and straight
by the hard pull of the traces.

Although black hearts and minds are still tread upon
yet do they bloom;
even when turned inside out
yet do they flourish.

Plow deep our hearts this day, oh Lord,
to celebrate freedom declared for all God’s children.

May we never forget the strength it took to hold on…
to plow, sow, grow, gather and harvest that freedom,
the steady pull on the traces
in order to raise up strong children and grandchildren
evermore and everywhere.

photo by Joel DeWaard
photo by Joel De Waard

Thank you once again to Joel DeWaard, local farmer, craftsman and photographer, who graciously shares his remarkable photos.

AI image created for this post

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The Swarm Fell on His Back

barnstormingblog4 Comments
Painting “Plowing the Field” by Joyce Lapp

When the plowblade struck   
An old stump hiding under   
The soil like a beggar’s   
Rotten tooth, they swarmed up   
& Mister Jackson left the plow   
Wedged like a whaler’s harpoon.   
The horse was midnight   
Against dusk, tethered to somebody’s   
Pocketwatch.  He shivered, but not   
The way women shook their heads   
Before mirrors at the five   
& dime—a deeper connection   
To the low field’s evening star.   
He stood there, in tracechains,   
Lathered in froth, just   
Stopped by a great, goofy   
Calmness. He whinnied   
Once, & then the whole   
Beautiful, blue-black sky   
Fell on his back.
~Yusuf Komunyakaa “Yellow Jackets” from Pleasure Dome

Horse Team by Edvard Munch

Death by a thousand stings.

This poem is twenty years old, yet shattering to read by the light of the events of this past week and this past year. Written by a Pulitzer Prize winning Black poet and Vietnam War veteran, it is a stark description of a teamster and plow horse going about their routine work when a hive of yellow jackets is disturbed.

The farmer saves himself.

The abandoned work horse remains harnessed and chained to the immobilized plow, eventually falling crushed beneath the swarm on his back.

How many times recently have we witnessed this stark reality of the power of the angry swarm – whether the target is someone set upon and killed by law enforcement gone rogue, or last week, a man in blue defending the U.S. Capitol, beaten and crushed by rioters who pummeled him senseless with the pole of the American flag?

A poetic metaphor about an enslaved worker dying in chains expands to include us all:

-we are the farmer who panics and runs for his life in the midst of crisis
-we are the harnessed plowhorse obediently and calmly doing his job, becoming the sacrifice for the sake of the farmer
-we are the angry swarm whose well being and security is threatened so all hell breaks loose
-we are the poet whose words try to make sense of the senseless.

Ultimately, the Writer of the Word is our rescuer: rather than abandoning us to our fate, He saves us by becoming the sacrifice Himself.

He allowed the swarm to fall on His back rather than on us.