Whistlelo | David Mills | The Piltdown Review

Whistlelo

Whistlelo

This is one of a series of poems exploring Manhattan’s African Burial Ground. Learn more.

A free New York Negro living in an attic with two enslaved New York Negroes: 1790s

Freedom?! I live in a lawyer’s clamped

attic with Minnie and Cudjoe

who ain’t free: same much the same

they do behind the lawyer’s bolted

doors. Also cain’t vote, testify, no

ponderin’ on a jury. No rights.

Slave codes. They fought

because of tax sum’thin—without

reprezintashun. Where’s my war?  

shortlink: dogb.us/whistlelo

          

               

More Remarkable Finds
Fourcast

Fourcast

If the weather looks bad, you should never use four-letter words.
Visions

Visions

White peacock with tail of cloud and flame sweeps before us through blue wilderness.
A Strong Premonition of Death Struck Me This Morning

A Strong Premonition of Death Struck Me This Morning

Some days, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t shake that sense of impending doom.