Young, black and enslaved

Phillis Wheatley




Phoebus remained her true god, the flambeau brought with

Her from Africa when she was ten years old.

In the dark of slavery, she was—without a doubt—

Lucky, for her master nurtured the flame of curiosity;

Lucky, for her Boston family illumined her—

In the home—with the edification of the word,

So she bloomed as a bright and reflective

Writer. Her poems sparkled with light.

Her poems illuminated those who read them.

Even Washington, warmed, beckoned her to Mount Vernon,

And she came and they talked unto emblazonment.

Then, after that talk, he allowed black soldiers to be

Let to serve their country, and at death, he freed his slaves.

Everything did not stay sublime: her husband passed, so darkened her last

Years of toil; she died only thirty-one.

2010
 
"Phillis Wheatley" is an acrostic poem. She is the beginning of African-American literature.  What I really enjoy about her story is how her bright intelligence put to lie the idea that black people were inherently inferior, convincing the father of our country that someday we all would truly be equal.
 
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