Read "Cane" by Jean Toomer online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
Wind is in the cane. Come along. Cane leaves swaying, rusty with talk, Scratching choruses above the guinea's squawk, Wind is in the cane. Come along.
Carma, in overalls, and strong as any man, stands behind the old brown mule, driving the wagon home. It bumps, and groans, and shakes as it crosses the railroad track. She, riding it easy. I leave the men around the stove to follow her with my eyes down the red dust road. Nigger woman driving a Georgia chariot down an old dust road. Dixie Pike is what they call it. Maybe she feels my gaze, perhaps she expects it. Anyway, she turns. The sun, which has been slanting over her shoulder, shoots primitive rockets into her mangrove-gloomed, yellow flower face. Hi! Yip! God has left the Moses-people for the nigger. "Gedap. " Using reins to slap the mule, she disappears in a cloudy rumble at some indefinite point along the road.