NYU Black Renaissance Noire Fall 2013 - Page 51

Before Waking Empty highway. Forest in the distance— cobwebs mapping the clearing of the pines. In a meadow of burning grass— a book before you. A tree drops its charred apples. Crow comes to eat. You will gather the seeds and continue to travel. Climb the bone-strewn mesas, the mountains a doorway at your side. This is the place of your birth— pass by it. There is nothing left here to remember me by but webs spun from cedar smoke— 49 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE where my footprints disappear down your throat. BRN-FALL-2013.indb 49 9/13/13 12:48 AM