Harriet Tubman

Harriet Tubman

   Lights out at nine, Mother says. It's nine-ish
   but as always I'm dying to finish
   the book I'm reading;
   as always nine comes at some delicious
   passage--Harriet Tubman breaking out!
   Freedom! I charge, staying put.

   I am not now what I will be when dependency
   is outgrown--or will it outgrow me,
   the book I'm reading
   yield to other slavers: money, duty?
   Day dwindles to inertia, a closed door impeding
   even second-hand light.

   I have plans, Harriet Tubman, for my escape:
   flashlight, blanket, book. I feel the shape
   of the book I'm reading
   against my thighs like Moses' tablets scraped
   with words, transgressive words, feeding
   a justice disobedient as fire.

COPYRIGHT 2002 Commonweal Foundation
COPYRIGHT 2003 Gale Group