#AmericanWriters
You confide in me that you are lonely,
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
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...
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
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
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…
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
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body