#AmericanWriters
You confide in me that you are lonely,
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
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...
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
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
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
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…
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
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...
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.