I have heard through hopeful whispers
of a getaway path.
An escape from these long years
and backbreaking work six days a week.
Freedom is calling my name
My master’s whip is calling caution

Those with masters speak with admiration
About a woman, Harriet Tubman
She and those before followed
The Drinking Gourd
Its handle pointing north

Every distant sweep
Of the wind, muscles tense.
Every wild noise is the reminder
of dogs chasing for you.
Fear is an aching hollow
in your treacherous voyage.

Safe havens are lit
by the soft glowing of lanterns.
Others show their silent support
with quilts hanging bravely.
Homes of abolitionists calm
my stomach and fear for a little bit.

Crossing into the Ohio border
My feet hurt a little less.
My stomach is quieter.
I breathe deeply.
A celebration erupts inside me.
Thousands of cheers should explode.

But
The fear of being sent back,
is still strong and alive.
If I am caught
I will be paraded to my master
for a hefty reward.
So I am wordlessly
welcomed into freedom.