Nottoway Plantation

The ancestors spoke today.

The ancestors spoke today.
Their speech came as fire,
snapping and crackling and roaring,
a unique chorus that
burned down
a white-washed history
and turned it to smoke and ash.

The ancestors revolted today.
Their action was not fickle nor did it meander.
Rather, it was exact,
sparked by fate, carried by wind,
untouched by rain,
obliterating quiet reverence and awe
for “beauty and romance” that
masked pain, misery, and suffering.

The ancestors danced today.
Their ghosts manifested themselves
in the flames
and their spirits swirled and twirled,
jumped and leapt,
a fiery jig of retribution,
bringing down roof and column alike.

The ancestors celebrated today.
They liberated the souls
of their younger selves,
released them from the hell of memories
marked by torture, punctuated by agony,
scarred by hardship,
and took vengeance on their oppressors.

The ancestors rose today.
With eyes upward and
the jeopardy of damnation behind them,
they made their way to freedom,
while the pride of their masters burned,
an ugly, black bruise on lush landscape.
And we, the blood of their blood,
we rise and we rejoice with them.