#AmericanWriters
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
When you see water in a stream you say: oh, this is stream water; When you see water in the river you say: oh, this is water
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
