#Americans #Lesbian #PulitzerPrize #Women
Guarded within the old red wall’s… Marshalled like soldiers in gay co… The tulips stand arrayed. Here in… Wheels out into the sunlight. Wha… Sets off their tunics, white with…
As one who sails upon a wide, blue… Far out of sight of land, his mind… Upon the sailing of his little boa… On tightening ropes and shaping fa… Hears suddenly, across the restles…
“So . . .” they said, With their wine-glasses delicately… Mocking at the thing they cannot u… “So . . .” they said again, Amused and insolent.
The scent of hyacinths, like a pal… between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing throu… Makes the candles quiver. My nerves sting at a spatter of ra…
Slowly, without force, the rain dr… on the carved head of Saint John,… over his stone cloak. It splashes… and falls from it in turmoil on th… Where are the people, and why does…
I learnt to write to you in happie… And every letter was a piece I ch… From off my heart, a fragment newl… From the mosaic of life; its blues… Its throbbing reds, I gave to ear…
Did the door move, or was it alway… The gladioli on the table are pale… I smell pale mauve and blue, Blue soft like bruises—putrid—oozi… The air oozes blue—mauve—
Before the Altar, bowed, he stand… With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrifici… Not one of all these has he given,
Pale, with the blue of high zenith… In smooth, running patterns, a sof… Warm from a woman’s soft shoulders… Where is she, the woman who wore i… A languor, fire-shotted, runs thro…
Little cramped words scrawling all… Like draggled fly’s legs, What can you tell of the flaring m… Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncertain window and theb…
What torture lurks within a single… When grown too constant; and howev… However welcome still, the weary m… Aches with its presence. Dull rem… Remembers on unceasingly; unsought
The wind is singing through the tr… A deep-voiced song of rushing cade… And crashing intervals. No summer… Is this, though hot July is at it… Gone is her gentler music; with de…
When I have baked white cakes And grated green almonds to spread… When I have picked the green crow… And piled them, cone-pointed, in a… When I have smoothed the seam of…
Slipping softly through the sky Little horned, happy moon, Can you hear me up so high? Will you come down soon? On my nursery window-sill
You—you— Your shadow is sunlight on a plate… Your footsteps, the seeding-place… Your hands moving, a chime of bell… The movement of your hands is the…
