from The Invention of Wings  By Sue Monk Kidd

She sewed black bits into birds’ wings

to fly from quarters dim and dark.

Enslaved she yet found words to sing.

Made deprivation somehow ring,

her melodies more than a lark.

She sewed black bits into birds’ wings

to soar from winter into spring.

The lash and strap might leave their mark,

Enslaved she yet found words to sing.

Weighed down by what no freedom brings

she quilted then the rainbow’s arc.

She sewed black bits into birds’ wings.

Owned but her skin, no wealth of kings,

forbidden to read, just made her mark.

Enslaved she yet found words to sing.

Found too a stubborn hope that clings

to tongue and soul, a sheltering ark.

She sewed black bits into birds’ wings.

Enslaved she yet found words to sing.