MANDELA DAY

In the heat of the afternoon he slept
on the wooden cot that was his for
his seventy years
he pushed his fingers through his white curly hair
thinking about Winnie, always thinking about Winnie.
He opened his deep brown eyes to try to see the image
of the children he had never seen
only to see the concrete of the cell.
The call to breakfast was the moment when he felt her hand
touching his,
and her whisper,
soft and tender,
telling him of her quiet day at home.
Rising to face his imprisoned life he ached in
his body,
his heart,
his soul.
Hearing the movement of the other prisoners
he resigned to his daily routine.
Rising toward the door he remembered
one day in his past.
It was Winnie's birthday.
The happiness of the family then was strong,
the children would run from one adult to the other,
teasing and pulling one another,
in their anxiety the children would say,
"I'm free, I'm free,"
everyone would get excited and cheer on the free one.
freedom yes, freedom yes, Nelson would nod.

r.p.leith
January 1988