#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
To change the world enough you must cease to be afraid of the poor. We experience your fear as the lea… humiliations; in the past
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
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…
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
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
You confide in me that you are lonely,