Memorial Park

 
you were explaining the history
of Taneytown, as I sat there captivated  
by that deeply hidden passion
I had seen one time
before. That was ages ago.
 
Memorial Park had marked
a history just beginning
to unfold—now many decades
after slavery, and the emergence of freedom,
I walked on that delicate rope line connecting
the two mountaintops, struggling
between "singleness" and “slavery.”
 
Love is our only master—
and we, the slaves, forced
to do its bidding, by and by,  
we sat silent, powerless
on a park bench amidst wood chips
staring at the park that had changed
slightly since last we saw it.
 
we had changed  
too, in that little span of a year
and a half, and history,
for you, had always
been a subject  
of interest
 
which is why you took the time
to tell me about Roger Taney
and the Dread Scott decision
(which you learned in class
that week before)
important decisions
which would be written mercilessly
into the history books.
 
The field was marked to remember
history (though not of the personal kind)
yet Memorial Park  
brought relationship history to mind,
as I remembered
how I went from
free  
to slave
to alone.