WITNESS STONES PROJECTS
In its effort to document enslavement and expand our understanding of the local past, Witness Stones Old Lyme joins other community initiatives in Restorative History. We invite you to learn more about these projects.
Lyme-Old Lyme Middle School
The Lyme-Old Lyme Schools have included the Witness Stones curriculum in their seventh-grade social studies and English language arts classes. In the spring of 2021, students became historians as they used primary documents to learn about Jenny Freeman and Lewis Lewia, two enslaved residents of the town. This work helped make the story of local slavery tangible, personal, and relevant to their own lives. As their final project, using Marilyn Nelson's Fortune’s Bones as inspiration, they wrote their own poems about the experience of enslavement.
The Chains
by Maggie Thuma
I was linked to these chains
Since the day I was born
These chains that forced me down
Pulled me to Marshfield Parsons
And left me torn on the ground
The Col. Marshfield and his family
As white as the falling snow
Used me and abused me
To be freed was only in one's fantasy
His tavern smelled of dirt
Like the grimmy liquid
I was forced to clean up
Dreaming of the day
These chains break apart
Enslaved by the color of my skin
Enslaved with my family next to me
Enslaved standing by my wifes bright eyes
Enslaved with my young children
Hoping for what the future brings
Until the day the chain links were broken
Pieces of my past scattered on the floor
I live a good life with land and a house
But I will never forget those chains
That tore my life apart
Without a Choice
by Thomas Kelly
As my family struggled and felt pain while suffering
Barely even breathing
My husband and children fighting for their lives
Yet could not reach for there objectives they would like
To become free, and live their own lives
No freedom, only ownership.
Without a choice working day and night
Without a voice unending servitude
We have no control over what we do
Unless we are ready to end all things too
We have no control over what we do
unless we are ready to end all things too.
We have no control over what we do
unless we are ready to end all things too.
Untitled
by Anne-Marie Hinkley
I was enslaved by Marshfield Parsons
Forced to work
He had a life outside of the house
Unlike me
He had a job
He got paid
He had a choice of profession
unlike me
I was worked like an animal
In a cage on a leash
The church records speak as if I were a object
“Lewis, negro servent to Col. Marshfield”
He was his own person
Unlike me
Untitled
by Anne-Marie Hinkley
I was enslaved by Marshfield Parsons
Forced to work
He had a life outside of the house
Unlike me
He had a job
He got paid
He had a choice of profession
unlike me
I was worked like an animal
In a cage on a leash
The church records speak as if I were a object
“Lewis, negro servent to Col. Marshfield”
He was his own person
Unlike me
Farmering
by Eve Videll
Farming
Farming all the time
From sunrise to sun down
Farming
My hands burn all the time
Cuts, bruises and calluses
Farming
Sun shines all the time
Lighten by the stars
Farming
Untitled
by Taylor Quinton
Lewis was born enslaved
But his enslavement was not forever
Some time between 1800-1820
he became a free man
He was like a bird flying in the sky
A kite flying high
Lewis was forever a free man
He had a family
A house
A job
He had a life of his own,
As a free man
He worked in the field as a farmer
Making money for his family
To put food on the table
To keep a roof over their heads
He still remembered when he was not a free man
In freedom he would think
of times when he worked for no pay,
Worked his fingers to the bone every day
He did what his enslaver said
Never disobeyed
Lewis could then say that he was forever a free man
Poem on Laws/Perspectives during 1700-1800’s
by Chase Gilbert
How I have always dreamed.
The freedom of movement
beyond my boundaries
To study the world
Afar from properties
Oh, what it means
to be free
How I have always dreamed.
The ability to learn
To read
To write
To solve
Amongst my family
To not be considered a threat
Oh, what it means
to be free
How I have always dreamed
To value more than a price.
I was listed
I was sold
Is this how you considered me?
At last I was finally free
With independence
revolving around me.
Never again a slave
With laws surrounding me.
Gate
by Jade Lawton
Nancy, Prince Jr
All put up a good fight
In the end
They were all doomed
Pompey, Crusa, and Temperance had no choice,
for they were born without a voice
The father, Prince soon shared the fate
He was let go in 1826,
He now waits by the gate
Sickness followed him like a pest
Never letting him free until his life undone
Prince was not a person
But property
He wanted him alive
not because he cared
But for the labor he carried
Summer 1822 the trees blew
The birds chirped
But for me, I waited for my son
Pompey
I had waited once again
Nancy in 1853
Heartbreaking News
by Kathy Zhange
It was a sunny afternoon,
I was humming my little tune,
Knitting a new sweater for the Noyes family,
Little did I know the pain and agony I would soon feel,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
Footsteps in the hallway,
Getting louder by step,
The noises stopped,
Little did I know the pain and agony I would soon feel,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
There was a knock at the door,
Willaim walked in looking at the floor,
He was holding what seemed to be a letter,
Little did I know the pain and agony I would soon feel,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
He handed me the letter,
Sympathy in his eyes,
I studied the letter,
Little did I know the pain and agony I would soon feel
Pain and agony pain and agony.
It was nicely written in cursive,
I read through it,
I dropped the sweater,
Little did they know the pain and agony I was feeling,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
Crying I crumpled the letter in my hand,
Tears running down my face,
I felt my face burning up,
Little did they know the pain and agony I was feeling,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
The letter held my nightmare,
Prince has died at sea,
The ship that carried his body was called “Barney”,
Little did they know the pain and agony I was feeling,
Pain and agony pain and agony.
Jenny
by Cole Donnelly
A lonely soul, locked up away
From where she had originally laid,
Throughout her days, were highs and lows,
But family helped her feel at home.
She had many children, including grand and great-grand,
Some of which passed away, to her dismay.
She hoped and dreamed of becoming free,
But could never escape from slavery.
What was the fate for most, of her ethnicity and race,
Had owned her to her last breath and to the grave.
Untitled
by Coleman Curtiss-Reardon
Lewis Lewia was his name
1779 birthplace unknown
his future; enslavement
He met Margaret Crosley
She became his bride
Together, they had Eunice and James
July 9th, 1852, at age 73
He lay in bed reciting his life
Then an hour later, he left the earth
Jenny
by Ben Goulding
I was treated like an animal,
My only friends were the stars and the moon.
I was put to work on the property,
From sunrise to way past noon.
When I failed my master I was punished,
I could get out of beatings with luck.
But if I was truly falling behind,
I could be whipped or worse, tied up.
Poem 1
by Maddie Trepannier
Laws I must obey,
Every week and every year,
Rules in place to follow,
I can not escape this life ,
Freedom will never be mine to take.
Jenny could not leave her enslaver’s property,
She could not be taught to read or write,
She had no control over what was hers.
The Fugitive slave acts,
Seizing those who left their captivity,
Returning them to servitude,
Harsh punishments set over them,
Held into labor and service.
Pomp, Jenny’s son
He had ran away
Advertisements in newspapers saying his name
Describing his poor conditions
But for once he had human agency.
Poem
by Ilona Binch
Sun shining through the windows.
Children running through the halls.
There were joyful voices in the air
Even though nothing was right at all.
I was knitting socks and gloves
For children that weren’t mine.
My children worked for families that weren’t ours.’
Their children got toys - my children got scars.
My body was their property.
To the Noyes my enslavers.
I took care of their children,
But my thoughts were of mine.
When I was “Old Jenny,”
I worked and worked not even getting a penny.
I would care, and I would clean.
I was nothing, not even a thing
When I was a “Freeman,”
I was something
I helped others be free like me.
No one should have to suffer the indignities of slavery.
What is Human
by Connor Vautrain
Human
A word to be thought
What does it mean?
To us human is living
To be free
To be ourselves.
They were human too
But did they know that?
Or do they think to put the label of themselves as sold
As owned
As property
They were treated as such
Beaten like garbage
Tortured
Put into property records
Dehumanized
Dehumanized
Dehumanized
Witness Stones Poets
The Old Lyme Witness Stones Partnership, with generous support from a Health Improvement Collaborative of Southeastern Connecticut (HIC) Partnership Grant for Racial Equity, has joined with four distinguished Connecticut poets to create a tribute in verse to those remembered on Lyme Street plaques.
Antoinette Brim-Bell, Marilyn Nelson, Kate Rushin, and Rhonda Ward capture unheard voices and bring vividly to life experiences, attitudes, and emotions long ignored and then forgotten. Their reflections in verse allow Cato, Humphrey, Temperance, Arabella, and others to speak to us today about their years of enslavement in Lyme. Their work will be published later this year.
Poets Marilyn Nelson, Antoinette Brim-Bell & Rhonda Ward read at the Witness Stones Old Lyme Installation Ceremony on June 4
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