Elegy

FOR HARRIET TUBMAN & FREDRICK DOUGLASS

I lie down in my grave and watch my children grow Proud blooms above the weeds of death. Their petals wave and still nobody knows the soft black dirt that is my winding sheet. The worms, my friends, yet tunnel holes in bones and through those apertures I see the rain. The sunfelt warmth now jabs within my space and brings me roots of my children born. Their seeds must fall and press beneath this earth, and find me where I wait. My only need to fertilize their birth. I lie down in my grave and watch my children grow.