Three Steps to Freedom

Three Steps to Freedom
(by Francesca Giacona – Fall 2010)

Three Steps to Freedom
Nothing is different,
But everything has changed;
No more breaking my back in the hot southern sun,
No more buttermilk from a trough.
But the sun keeps risin' each morning,
And the wind keeps on whistlin'
Past my face.
The same wind that chilled me
As a slave,
It chills me now,
Almost a free man.


I peer into that Yankee town,
Not at all like them towns down south.
No slaves being brought in,
Not just white,
But everyone mixin' to a grey.
I wait for night,
And when it is only me and the moon,
My bare, bleeding feet take
One step,
Two steps,
Three steps,
And I become a free man.


Three steps,
And I strap my slavery
To a great, black, bird in the sky,
And don't look back none as it vanishes
Into the night.
Three steps,
And my soul is singing!
My heart is pounding:
Free, free, free.
Three steps and I am free.


Note: Francesca is my granddaughter. As the old saying goes, it doesn't get any better than this.