Slaves are said to have worked hard & long on this island
Sunup to sundown & beyond Sundays & Christmas off
Two clothes a year are memories bestowed to old Penn School.
Nearby expressionless summer homes of early plantation owners sit observing the bay
The stately museums of Beaufort the arsenals and ports of the English
Built above Native remains: the romance of American history.
Sand blows across the island from ocean beaches. Palmettos & dark green foliage hover menacingly
This island has been stolen and stolen again…made into cotton & rice riches
Off strong brown backs…
The blowing sand and the palmettos know much of these things but speak only at night
Speak their silent mysterious language only to themselves.
Today black bodies frisk about the beaches listening to soul radio thinking of what?
When night becomes shimmering black the small cabins of the blacks grow silent
While voices of the land rise to a feverish pitch. Voices of endless memory….