Tituba's poem

Saffron sands undulating like waves,
The sea burrows into the shore,
White claws of surf acting like the delicate paws of a mole.
Palm trees swell through the powdery pebbles,
Leaves like green tails swishing in the breeze.
Barbados is calling.

A little Negro girl slumps on the shore,
Her dark skin seasoned with salt from the water.
An untainted purity in her wide eyes,
Her hair hangs like a curtain of black seaweed.
But virtue never claimed victory over cruelty.
The English are calling.

One day they appear,
As men with the weapons of knowledge,
Piercing the silence with their sardonic barbs.
She is stolen from the seashore, her home,
And sold at the price of her clothing.
Her master is calling.

Salem welcomes its slave,
The thin rod of power
Scratching away the itch of abandon.
Expectation bubbles beneath the surface,
Whispers wanting for wildness.
The magic is calling.

Out in the woods:
She is alone now,
Blistering embers boring into the sweating earth
At her feet. She rises,
Her words distorting into the old chants.
The Darkness is calling.