NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 149

Remnants There stands a man. He reaches into his shirt pocket and finds a used booklet of matches and lights one for his cigarette; tossing the hot stick on the highway near Albuquerque. He is afraid for the snow season is near. He walks past the cemetery. A gentle breeze blows. He kicks a small rock off the bridge into the dry Rio Puerco—he knows why—why the river will never run again. He turns around and sees the cemetery and wipes his brow. He cups the sweat in his hands and flings it towards the arroyo. The tar covered pebbles grumbles underneath his feet and against the road. For all he knows is the sight of endless highways. The four directions surround him. He sees ants collecting an old carcass. He is searching for a ride. 147 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE He lives for no one and his home is beneath him. BRN-FALL-2013.indb 147 9/13/13 12:48 AM