Written as an excercise in Dr. Medina's creative writing class. Part One deals with a woman who seems to be a slave in early America.

And who am I?

I am the morning's daughter cast in… chains.

Manacles with unseen rows of teeth… that tear more than my flesh.

I am the child you forced to bathe in dust as you dragged me home.

I am the bended fountain of your strength, the sustainer of your life, the keeper of your dreams.

And each sting of the wind pours life into the ground.

And so it grows.

And each tear of my leathery flesh pours life into the ground.

And so it grows.

The leather turns papery and crumbles, the ancient wisdoms carved there fading from sight.

The boots are always stomping through my mind.

Crushing hope, gelding dreams, and gilding the…

Red, smoky rivers running down my back.

Who am I?

I am the flesh you burn thinking " I am… Savior, father, hero, friend.

I am the blood you spill upon the pages of the Gospels.

I am the tearstained heart that beats obscenely beneath a broiling sun.

Formless and pockmarked, a dried sponge.

I am a tattered cloth that once was fair.

I am shredded nightgowns and shrieks of bitter rage.

I am blurry rhymes that tears wash from the sheet.

Who am I?

You call me "Aunt" Sara.