#AmericanWriters
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
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
You confide in me that you are lonely,
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
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
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
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...
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
in our lifetime. Which makes the idea of elections Notice how this word has “man” right in the middle of it? That’s one reason I like it. He is right there, front and center. But he i...
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’