Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes Drive Through the South

Houses careen crazily in their utter desertion
as Zora and Langston cruise at 20 miles an hour
in her Nash two-seater through the slow South.
Towns fall away, Richmond, Tuskegee, Mobile,
drawling up into the sky left behind.
Zora has a gun in a shoulder holster, Langston
has a notebook. On the old Atlantic Highway,
renamed US 1, she pushes the little coupe hard
and lands a speeding ticket.

Biscuits, ham, cornbread, watermelon,
Langston writes down meals in his notebook.
They ask what songs people know, visit
with conjure and college men. Photos show
Zora in white dress and beads, Langston
with his tie loosened, the Nash waiting nearby,
thinking how it will be a get-away car
when it grows up. None of the three suspect
they’ll be running these roads till they end.

The Plan for Your Life

Remember

that you must leap
from whatever window is available
in every building you enter

Remember

that the wind will be strong and
not caring who you are
will take you where it will

Remember

that how you fall has nothing
to do with how you lived
or what you believe

Remember

that the stricken face
you see in windows you fall by
will no longer be yours