Did you know there are slaves

who have set themselves free?

(Almost afraid to ask.)

How’d they do that?

Santo Domingo, San Domingue, Hispaniola—

three names for an island

rising like a fortress

from the waters of the Caribbean.

An island of sun and forest,

wild fruit and mosquitoes—

and slaves, many slaves—half a million.

Slaves to chop sugar, slaves

to pick coffee beans, slaves to do

their French masters’ every bidding.

Then one summer, news came

from the old country: Revolution!

Plantation owners broke into a sweat;

their slaves served cool drinks

while the masters rocked on their verandas,

discussing each outrage:

people marching against the king,

crowds pouring into the streets,

shouting three words:

Liberté!

Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité—three words

were all the island masters talked about

that summer, while their slaves

served carefully and listened.

Black men meeting in the forest:

Eight days, they whispered,

and we’ll be free. For eight days

bonfires flashed in the hills:

Equality. For eight days

tom-toms spoke in the mountains:

Liberty. For eight days

the tom-toms sang: Brothers and sisters.

And on the eighth day, swift as lightning,

the slaves attacked.

They came down the mountains

to the sound of tambourines and conch shells.

With torches they swept onto the plantations,

with the long harvest knives

they chopped white men down

like sugar cane. For three weeks

the flames raged; then the sun

broke through the smoke and shone

upon a new nation, a black nation—

Haiti!

Now do you see

why they’ve kept this from us,

brothers and sisters?

I see you’re a poet

as well as a rebel.

Not a thing, Jones. Just passing

the time of day with my happy flock—

which is more than I see you doing.

But it’s noon, Miss Jennings!

They need nourishment

if we’re going to get this crop in.

It appears they’ve been getting

a different sort of sustenance.

See that they work an extra hour tonight.

I don’t care if they have to pick by moonlight!

As for you: I’ll see you

up at the house. Come at sunset—

the view over the fields

is most enchanting then.