#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
If my sorrow were deeper I’d be, along with you, under the ocean’s floor; but today I learn that the oil that pools beneath the ocean floor
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
Reminding us, as they witnessed our curiosity about them, that no matter the losses, there’s something fabulous going on at every stage of Life, something to let go of, maybe, but for d...
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Did you ever understand this? If my spirit was poor, how could… Was I depressed? Understanding editing, I see how a comma, removed or inse…
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
The tree of life has fallen on my small house. I thought it was so much bigger! But it is not. There in the distance I see the m…
