NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 30

By K. CURTIS LYLE Robert Johnson and Bessie Smith Sit in My Stone House “I am the great discard wizard dropout Borne by the pall bearers who carry Forward the legend of the ancient hitman Of Harlem; when I strut, the war Breach of Seventh Avenue will kick open It’s uranium door and unleash god damned Battle between the house and the street” What warm bench can hold Jimmy Baldwin? What kind of refugee flees the lethal Planet of his own cosign, looks back Toward ugly in its deepest beauty and Says, “I love you”; he turned his baby Face away from Jehovah and his body Into a summons to cakes and ale He never came down from the summit, Cat walked about in person and wore A red feather at the front of The head as a sign that he was Always on pitched alert for the return Of racial cholera; his volcano voice and Pen were John Brown’s mighty healing virus He said this to an America that Began by burying him in lime for All the savage nocturn circus acts that He had failed to commit, and ended In a jack hammer squeeze of trust That crushed the spine, severed the heart; The man was bear hugged to death 28 “If you won’t let me love you I won’t die; I won’t break under The flash furnace of the abuse button I won’t panic, can’t compel you to Open the door; I can’t shove you; I can’t declare martial law; I can’t Cook you because I think you’re raw BRN-FALL-2013.indb 28 9/13/13 12:47 AM