LOU WALKER ROAD

Lou Walker Road wasnt long enough. It wasnt paved. A simple ginger-tinted dust track, formed by wheels and horse hooves traveling to and from the brick house my father built on bargain land in 1933, dead-ended at a patch of woods where plum and pecan trees dotted the border. Beyond that is where we stepped in with our boots to get firewood, fencepost wood, walking sticks—every kind of stick… for any purpose thought up after handling and considering a shape. Find a bowed, flexible branch and all of a sudden you imagine you have lost the ability to use a hand—your hand falls off. You become salamander-like, able to regenerate a limb resembling an extra-long okra clipper.

“Lou Walker Road.” Black Renaissance Noire, New York University, Vol. 18 Issue 2, Fall 2018.

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