Two more.
This one-- as you know, I come from the University
of Virginia.
I've been teaching there for some twenty--
I shouldn't even tell you how long.
A long time.
It was built by Thomas Jefferson,
thanks to the labor of his slaves.
And one of those slaves was a man
by the name of Henry Martin, who was born on the day
that Thomas Jefferson died, July 4th, ironically enough, 1826.
He was the bellringer.
He rang the bell for the classes.
And this is his.
"Bellringer."
I was given a name.
It came out of a book.
I don't know which.
I've been told the Great Man could recite every title
in order on its shelf.
Well, I was born, and that's a good thing,
although I arrived on the day of his passing,
a day on which our country fell into mourning.
This I heard over and over, from professors, to farmers, even
duel-scarred students, sometimes, in grand company,
remarked upon in third person, a pretty way of saying
more than two men in a room means the third can be ignored,
as I was when they spoke of my birth
and Mr. Jefferson's death in one breath,
voices dusted with wonderment, faint sunlight quivering
on a hidden breeze.
I listen in on the lectures whenever I can,
holding still until I disappear beyond third person.
And what I hear sounds right enough.
It eases my mind.
I know my appearance frightens some of the boys.
The high cheeks and freckles and not-quite-Negro eyes,
flaring gray as storm-washed skies back home.
It shames them to be reminded.
So much for book learning.
I nod as if to say, "Uncle Henry at your service,"
then continue on my way through darkness to start the day.
This is my place, stone rookery perched
above the citadels of knowledge, alone with my bats and my bell,
keeping time.
Up here, molten glory brims until my head's rinsed clear.
I am no longer a dreadful coincidence,
nor debt crossed off in a dead man's ledger.
I am not summoned, dismissed.
I am the clock's keeper.
I ring in their ears.
And every hour, down in that shining,
blistered republic, someone will pause to whisper, "Henry."
And for a moment, my name flies free.