NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 145

House in Whitetail for Evangeline P. B. The tree limbs and grasses move approximate with the same circle sway and swoosh of wind. They whisper among each blade and manage to hold secrets, muddle behind loose walls longing for open windows. The school bus makes the final stop in Whitetail. A mile down from my mother’s house I walk alongside the road listening. Gravel cracks beneath my step and echoes above the tree line. The pines emit their scent and release a pollen drift, intersecting the spring air that settles deliberate on my shoulders. From the roadway I approach the house, silent in the absence of my mother. The house is empty like the adjacent meadows which muffle my solitude. The sunset gives way to the golden outburst above the tree line. The house exudes kerosene as I light the match to the lantern. I sit and wait, listening to the beat of my heart syncopate with the cricket songs in Whitetail. 143 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE The outside light dims to a slumber of slow grey as I shuffle my feet to anticipate her arrival. The silence intensifies and lends itself to the settling frame of old angles. I am stuck with the smell of sulfur and the flicker of my eyes as I stand and make my way to my aunt Nita’s house. BRN-FALL-2013.indb 143 9/13/13 12:48 AM