Watered Memories Under the Virginia Sun

In the regal modesty of a Nubian queen, there she sat at the edge of the water; her legs hanging over. In the wet softness thereof, her feet rested. Yet her stare over the pool was as if staring over the ocean— A centuries old innate yearning—to a distant motherland; a stoic pose of freedom… But not at last. Life and living still had its hidden shackles. Muffled hidden shackles…jingling in the ‘land of the free and the home of the brave’. Despite the ‘white washing’, the cleansing of the ‘shocking bottoms’ and the paneling of the old quarters, the land of ‘first sails’ and cardinals, remained a mess. What a strange equality? Though the past had gone—as had time— it remains. And the future waits a distant reality—lingering. Lingering in the land ‘…for lovers’—where true justice remained jilted.