(in memory of Ruth First-
killed by a letter-bomb
in 1982 while in Mozambique)

Of one mind, one spirit,
They called you a traitor
An uppity bold white woman
Kind enough, but ripe for the fall.
So they stalled for time
And confined you under ‘section 6’
Behind their cold prison walls.
and they said that the halls
Must be silent in your presence
And sent agents to correct you,
To sway the error of your ways.
But your way was to deny them
Their pleasure, to fight and to die
By the tethered voice of your conscience.

Your choice was clear; no tears,
No nonsense, no fear
Just years of rough weather,
Tough jailors turning questions
Until finally
An answer to your challenge
A surprise disguised as mail,
And no chance to turn away.