Black-Woman

I

Black-Woman was born in the back of her father’s baby-blue ’49 Ford pickup. Her mother lay in the rusted flatbed, her feet pressed into the sides, toes curled in her slippers, and dressing gown pulled over her face. She screamed through the knot of gown in her mouth as her husband stared between her legs. His brow furrowed. He held the flame of a lighter between her thighs. He could see a small blue foot.