Slavery Stories

After the fields, he doesn’t get soap; the music’s what cleanses him, revealing his roots. When the moon says, “My turn,” to the sun, his fingers, numb from pickin’ cotton, find their feelings. His toes start tappin’. And others come a-running to hear him play the banjo. He sings spiritual songs from his homeland—reminders of hope. Black feet remember their steps from long ago on African soil. Dancing shakes loose the dir...

THE FOURTH OF JULY Did they know when they signed their names, declaring freedom from tyranny and the right to pursue happiness, that the women in their lives, the Africans who plowed their fields, the Natives whose land they occupied were listening and breathing the same air that summer day? Did they realize their ignorance when they rang the bell of liberty and heard the cannon roar in celebration that they were creatin...