(This plantation operated from 1779-1871 in St. John)
.
when the wind would die, the windmill stopped
and crushing the cane fell to the horses, shackled
to the wheel that turned the big stone grinders
.
here is the ruin of the horse corral atop this pretty hill
.
the horses sweated from dawn to dusk in the relentless
Carribean heat, obedient to the whip
brute creatures—property
strangers to freedom and care
.
what mattered was
.
sugar for dainty English tea
molasses to fatten America
rum for the European liquored rich
.
thousands of tons of sugar per year!
.
of course, besides the crushing,
first the land had to be slashed
burned
terraced
planted
the cane had to be grown
watered by buckets carried up the hills
cut
transported
cooked
and crystallized.
.
this work fell to others—
.and the world is ruined still
.

.
wicked good poetry. I do think a lot about those wretched lives, and our fat soft ones
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