"I know what you mean", he tells me, as we lay on a bed

naked in all our Blackness, and there's something else:

a sliver of discomfort. Lauryn is singing a change gon' come

and I listen for something like hope. Her voice is small;

as if the focus on survival has miniaturised it, and all I can hear

is where hope used to be, instead of the life she sings into it.

it's been too hard living, and I'm afraid to die

it's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come

Borrowed from Sam and lent to Leela this song, once of promise

given for sacrifice made, is now sorrowful for the wait it requires.

Like the hope is far off, and the holding is getting tiring, and

Lauryn is asking, when do we get to rest? Her tone a rhythmic

chant, a respite she has gifted herself amidst the motion of keeping

on. Sometimes that's all we have. But the carrying through to

someone else's dream is getting a little too long, and a little too

heavy, when all you want is simple joy and a life that is yours.

it's been too hard living, and I'm afraid to die

it's been a long, a long time coming, but I know a change gonna come

With the debt for our suffering long paid, I want to ask Lauryn

if we are human yet - if this is still our fight. If we can start living this

dream or, even, how much farther do we have to go. Now, all I want

is to quietly hum to Lauryn's life; consider if love is for me with

this man laid beside me, but Lauryn is still singing. Suddenly

I understand the smallness of her voice, and am weary all over again.