Dear Phillis Wheatley


Dear Phillis Wheatley

I could hear the notes ring, the song of the Sunday choir in;
the long magnificent words, the bible burn, stop, begin.

I knew the way you felt, clasped in a carpet, alone on the dock.
Await for the inevitable, the slow death. An alienation shock!

Individual you were not, yet, in a moment of light, the woman
saw a lost child, with no teeth, center right. Caught in a time

when the blacks were slaves, you shine torch on, and total up – sum
together as a pet poet to a rich English man. Oh! Fee Fi Fo Fum.

The great Englishman, the Earl of Dartmouth, A Christian of ethos
of equality undressed. He held your poetical life, a glossy emboss.

To see in the poetry he patronized, I wonder dear Phillis how
you ever survived. To find out you did not, did the flow stop?
for later, when free, you died!

With regards,

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