Chattel and Bukra, like in the woodpile
They live together in tense harmony,
Asking peace to take hold of
Them!
As a whole, in its comforting grasp.

They stole them away from their
Rightful owner,
Home; and handed them the hoe as they
Tauntingly dangled the blacksnake
As a symbol, they hoped, of fear and of…
Of nothing else,
For animals are only meant to feel fear
Whip through their bodies as death journeys closer with its silver key.

Some arrived as dead meat, cold as wagon tires
While others shuffled along feeling scared as their
Bondage would let them feel,
Into the hands of the mysterious masters with clean faces.

But Blanched now are the faces that once beamed blackness
In the face of death, punishment, hatred and much more.
And from hog and hominy to this tense harmony we have
Risen!