Gina Williams

DEAR CAPTOR

In 1521, Spanish explorer Francisco Gordillo and slaver Pedro de Quexos captured an indigenous Catawban man they baptized as Francisco de Chicora, along with 70 others, from near the mouth of the Pee Dee River in what is now South Carolina. Chicora learned Spanish and was taken to Spain where he gave a fantastical account of his homeland to chronicler Peter Martyr. In 1526, he was brought back to North America with 600 colonists. Immediately upon arriving, he escaped and returned to his people. 

Explosions rock a cloudless sky as blue as
these strange invader’s eyes—stinking, hairy men who
create thunderstorms with sticks.

Lightning splits the sea as they
raid our village—my Mother’s cries pain the trees,

sons, nephews slaughtered before her very eyes, their
still-bleeding flesh tossed to the Spaniard’s dogs,

the lucky netted, chained, branded, baptized, pinned
like botanist’s butterflies in molding holds of foreign ships.

Anchors pulled, my homeland
of pearls and misty cypress swamps melts against the horizon,
a ribbon of gold floating beneath the full moon.

I pray to bird spirits, call to souls of murdered brothers,
guide me home.

Captors, why do you teach me your language of greed?

Because now I understand

                                    the nature of your religion, the meaning of my 
                                    baptismal name. 

Francisco: Free. Free man. Freedom.

Gina Williams is a journalist, photographer, former firefighter, and gardener. She’s a Pacific Northwest native and can often be found rambling in the Oregon Outback, volunteering at the community garden, or on assignment in a far-flung location. She lives and creates near Portland, Oregon. Her full-length collection of poetry, An Unwavering Horizon, was published by Finishing Line Press this year. Learn more about her and her work at GinaMarieWilliams.com.