Go Tell It on the Mountain

by James Baldwin

They had gone from cursing to laughter, to anger, to lust.

He was a kind of fill-in speaker, a holy handyman.

But her mother had no wish to go North where, she said, wickedness dwelt and Death rode mighty through the streets.

That night had robbed her of the right to be considered a woman.

‘God’s got your number, knows where you live, death’s got a warrant out for you.’

They felt, he knew, that among themselves a little rude laughter could do no harm;

Later, when she would have told him, he was long past caring, in the silent ground.

And the silence was cracked, suddenly, by an ambulance siren, and a crying bell.