Shattered Pieces of Freedom

I read when researching
the average cost for a slave
although they were priced
by age and gender
in 1807 Sery a woman of 23
labeled the idiot
was purchased for $105
not all of the information you look up
will be worthy of repeating
no matter the purpose or reason
the information is required
I wanted to know how much
convert into present day dollars
compute if some of us actually received
enough coins of silver
or did we sell ourselves short
the fact is… after some of the freed slaves
left this country - went back to Africa
they began a new American tradition
making the Africans they met – SLAVES
it was the saddest fact I’ve ever learned
I guess freedom will always come in pieces
bent, shattered or broken
how many pieces of freedom
do we need to be free
the audacity of faith
not to let hope come first
turning the other cheek too often
will leave your faced bruised
how much belief do we need in each other
how many crosses must we bare
before the debt is paid
how long must I be black
before America sees the man in me
how many times must I repeat these words
watch you get angry at the sound
before you realize it came for me
long before I offered it to you
truth showed up naked
attempted to dress her - clothes didn’t fit
we will keep moving the movements
changing the flags and colors
buying the newest hair
until we are a perfect replicas
of our captors
exchanging friends for friends
replacing family with enemies
how many more Februaries
do we need until we wake up
understanding we don’t know our history
if we labeled every tenth year a shard
how many centuries will it take
to put back together
these shattered pieces of freedom 
how many empty chairs in cemeteries
how many caskets must we dig up
to make our souls whole again
there are pieces of me in you
and pieces of you in me
why is it impossible for us to find
common ground or unity
in 1807 you could purchase
a family of slaves
a mother and her four children
for less than three thousand dollars
here we are still selling ourselves short
arguing over corners and places
we don’t own, over words that are not ours
the audacity of wishes
not to let hope come first
why doesn’t faith come
with any assurance
if freedom was time
we’ve spent enough of it
fighting, marching, begging, praying
waiting for freedom to arrive
in the height of slavery
it was one of their own
who always told
who planned to escape and when
how many more Februaries do we need
how many painted t-shirts must we purchase
how many new slogans must we chant
the audacity of hope
to arrive with no hands
to show up with no help
this is the same land
the same dirt our ancestors stood
they arrived with prayers of freedom
carried hope in their throats for centuries
their bones are still praying for free
we are still praying for free
I don’t know where freedom lives
why freedom lies, or how freedom feels
I just know 1807 should still be
a long way from here
but in 2016 we are still
selling ourselves short

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