From my row house mailbox, I fished
an envelope: no address, just “David.”
scrawled. In my room, I read: e-mails
bounced back,calls orphaned. If you’re alive and don’twant to talk I get it.
Though six hours acrossthe Atlantic is much farther than six along it. If need be, I will kneel before your grave. here’s my number. just in case.
These poems are part of a series about slavery in New York City. The City is home to America’s oldest and largest slave cemetery—The Negro Burial Ground—which is located in Manhattan’s City Hall area. This slave cemetery (officially open between 1712-1795) contains 15,000 bodies.