things moved a lot slower down there
it was somber, solemn, slower
like I was wading through the ships they were on
someone I know said it was because
she could feel the ancestors sizzling underneath
I think they certainly were
for me, though
it was not their presence
but the atmosphere their presence provoked
the power that they hold
to transform a space
from a relic
into a reality
it was incredible
you could feel them there
you could hear them there
and most importantly
you could see them there
finally.
*this poem is my reaction to visiting the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, DC. The first floor of the museum is an emotional journey through slavery, colonialism, and violence in the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.