The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears.”

The winter air bit my cheeks as I stood in the dark corner of the cabin, the fire long dead. My master’s voice still rang in my ears from the field just beyond the fence, demanding more work while the night grew colder. I hummed a low tune to keep the silence at bay, not because I was glad, but because the grief inside me needed an outlet to stop it from breaking my chest entirely.