From Robert Stone, “Children of Light”

She let her song rise again and spread out her arms. In Louisiana the old black people called that kind of singing a bajo or banjo song, a homesick blues for where you've never been, which for them was Africa but for her was God only knows. Be there, Lu Anne sang. Be there, Sweet Jesus. Be there. She leaned back in the lounger, exhausted, When she turned to the mirror she saw her own secret eyes. No other person except her children and the Long Friends had ever seen them. She had used them … [Read more...]


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