Don't Cry for Me

by Daniel Black

There are no do-overs in this life. Either you get it right or you wish you had.

I find it funny that, at funerals, all dead people go to Heaven, regardless of how they lived. Perhaps this is black people’s way of rewarding themselves simply for having been black and survived—even for a while.

Hurt is worse than anger, you know. Anger dwells in the head, then fades. Hurt lingers in the soul. It rearranges your feelings without your permission. It blinds you.

I ain’t dyin there, I told him, and I mean that. I’m dying in my own house—where a man ought to die.

Knowledge is a funny thing, Isaac. It informs by exposing. It shows you precisely how much you don’t know.