NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 111

Hanging Fire 11, based on Audre Lourde’s poem I am fifty-eight and the knee I can’t live without has betrayed me; my man has grown sad like a song since his Papa died, and Momma’s in the bedroom with the door closed. I can no longer dance at the next party, suppose I fall like a scarecrow and lose my stuffing, will the truth of my poems ping like poppies in a field? Momma’s in the bedroom with the door closed. No one stops to think of my side of the story, my hair is wild like the wicked witch, gums are diseased like my tired soul; I have no shoes to wear tomorrow now that my knee is lost to me. 109 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE And Momma? I am Momma I have always been her even when I was fourteen or two, there was nothing to do too much to be done without her. BRN-FALL-2013.indb 109 9/13/13 12:48 AM