Forty One
Ponderous. It is the word that comes to mind as my legs struggle to propel sore feet.
Lucinda, Miss Lucinda, owns a farm. She refers to it as her plantation and the irony of having a Caucasian male slaving on acreage owned by a woman of color is not lost on the woman who has chosen to continue my subjugation to feminine governance. She is enthralled with my captivity.
Purchased as antiques, my irons were originally worn over one hundred years ago by African slaves deemed to be ‘runners’. Both the weight and formidable level of constraint make movement tiring and undesirable. Thus, in placing a ‘runner’ given to escape in heavy irons, there is imparted onto the remaining band of forced labor the lesson of long and continuous punishment for ill- conceived attempts at flights to
