Ida B. Wells

A Poem by Heather

born into a dark cavern of slavery, surrounded by shadows of doubt
warping her
twisting her
marching through the black night, a brilliant light that nothing could penetrate
dragging herself through streets brimming with the desolate despair of lynching
her veiled world shattered around her as she was submerged beneath the tangled waters of her families death
tossing her
drowning her
holding back the crushing walls of segregation from the seat of a train, holding her ground but crushed and cast away, leaving only her biting mark
hating
condemning
the scorching fires of lynching consumed her, licking at her feet until she started crusading against it, more radiant than ever, her soul battled the flames giving her the title of “Crusader of Justice”
the swarming, stinging bees of discrimination clustered around her, persuading her to write about the aching hurt
the Freedom Speech Newspaper was her gateway to a world where everyone could experience the stinging with her
open
free
one of two women to sign the key to a new land
unseen
unknown
that key was the call to the NAACP, a luminous glow in the black cavern, a new hope in a lost world
the dank, infinite corridor of discrimination did not end at being African-American, being a woman increased the terror
she helped build the tower of women's rights brick by brick
she was
clever
wonderful
powerful