People Who Lost Our Magic

图片取自 goodreads

　　There was a time in Africa the people could fly. Mauma told me this one night when I was ten years old. She said, "Handful, your granny mauma saw it for herself. She say they flew over trees and clouds. She say they flew like blackbirds. When we came here, we left that magic behind."

　　My mauma was shrewd. She didn't get any reading and writing like me. Everything she knew came from living on the scarce side of mercy. She looked at my face, how it flowed with sorrow and doubt, and she said, "You don't believe me? Where you think these shoulder blades of yours come from, girl?"

　　Those skinny bones stuck out from my back like nubs. She patted them and said, "This all what left of your wings. They nothing but these flat bones now, but one day you gon get'em back."

　　I was shrewd like mauma. Even at ten I knew this story about people flying was pure malarkey. We weren't some special people who lost our magic. We were slave people, and we weren't going anywhere.

The Invention of Wings, page 3
By Sue Monkr Kidd
ISBN 978 1 4722 1274 0


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