#AmericanWriters
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
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
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
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…
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot