I was thirteen when Papa gave me to you. One small bag on the porch waited while you drove up the road kicking up dirt. Begging and pleading, I asked Papa why he didn’t want me no more.
“ I’ll be good, don’t send me away Papa, please.”
You got out of the truck and walked up the stairs, a black man, as old as Papa with steel for eyes. I hid behind Papa scared, as you climbed the stairs.But without a word he put my hand in yours.
He never gave me his eyes, while I cried. “No! Please no!”
Papa said to you. “Now go, take her.”
I wouldn’t go, holding on to Papa’s legs, but he pushed me away like a dog. His own child.
“Why, Papa, Why,” I yelled unyielding, trying to stay.
You grabbed my arm saying, “Your Papa owed a debt he couldn’t pay girl, let’s go.”
As you drag me away, I looked for the truth in my parent’s eyes. Momma sheds tears, while Papa turned away. This was the day you took me for payment.
Copyright © 2013-14 Glynis Rankin