NYU Black Renaissance Noire Volume 18 Issue 1 - Winter 2018 - Page 26

Old Man Hears the Brain ’ s Howling Beast
Old man listens to the bells and his lifelong failures echoing through the brittle points in his bones . The years sit on his head as if chewing him away . The world of the illogical is a ghost in the hideaway of his imagination . His heart drums with ease at finding the imagination is the compass , the guide through the thousand and one fields he passed through in a lifetime .
Time ’ s perfume sticks to his skin like the living and dead and newborn . No matter how fiercely he desires to dig his toes in the green earth and return to age seven like the red-tailed hawk with sun wingtips , he is stuck . The wind brushes against his face winter ’ s grinding stones , yet he breathes on and blinks his eyes like he was leftover computer keys . He senses he cannot run from the lies littering his stories with success and glory .
When the cookie-cutter moon waves goodbye , the old man wonders if he will find his way home in the thud of a heartbeat .
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