Today's prompt is to write a poem that re-tells a family anecdote.
The streets ran red
With blood
As the rebels
Cut off the head
Of every member
Of the ruling class
Of every member
Of the aristocracy
Of my family
Of my friends.
Living on the run
Never ends.
How do I know
If they are friend or foe?
I'm next
I know I'm next
If they find me
I will be found guilty
Without prejudice
I will be marched out
To that killing machine
The guillotine
As crowds surround
And wait
For my date with fate.
And so a few good blokes
Find a way for me to make my escape
They bribe some sailors
Find me a way out
An apple barrel
They stow me inside
Roll me aboard
It is cramped
And smells strongly of apples
When I feel the rocking
Of the high seas
I climb out with difficulty
The voyage is long
The seas are rough
I do not have sea legs
The sea is not my friend
The boat is tossed
From wave to wave
And never again
Will I see my friends
Who my life did save.
I make my way to the Americas
The United States
Here, I have a future
Here, I can have a family
For centuries my ancestors will breathe
The airs
of freedom
of equality.
Here I do not have to fear
My countrymen
Arresting me
And chopping off my head
Making the streets run red
With my spilt blood.
And as grateful as I am
For that cramped ride
The smell of apples has never left me
But I am grateful to be alive .
Every day we are alive is a good day
-Sharon
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