a transcription of the poem read on the home page of this issue

by Cyrus Cassells

Not the white of hard-won cotton
or of pitiless snow—

I’ve found a whiteness
That gives me its glory;

it blooms
in Master Bellemare’s garden,

and though it is, by all accounts,
untouchable,

quiet as it’s kept, I’ve carried it
into the shabbiest of cabins,

worn it as I witnessed
the slave-breaker,

the hanging tree;
in dream-snatches

it blesses me, and I become
more than a brand,

a pretty chess piece:
at the mistress’s bell,

always prudent and afraid,
wily and afraid—

And when the days comes,
my rescuing flower’s name
will become my daughter’s;
a freeborn woman,
I swear,
she will never be shoeless
in January snow.
Bold Iris,
she will never fear sale
or the bottom of the sea.

Poem copyright 2018 by Cyrus Cassells. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Cyrus Cassells on The Fight & The Fiddle: “The Absence of the Witch Does Not Invalidate the Spell,” “Maples Anticipating Their Autumn Colors,” and “My Only Bible.” 

---

Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt