#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
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...
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
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
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
Don’t be like those who ask for ev… praise, a blurb, a free ride in my… limousine. They ask for everything… anything in return. Be like those who can see that my…
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
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…
