#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women
Earliest morning, switching all th… that cross the sky from cinder sta… coupling the ends of streets to trains of light. now draw us into daylight in our b…
Moving from left to left, the ligh… is heavy on the Dome, and coarse. One small lunette turns it aside and blankly stares off to the side like a big white old wall—eyed hor…
Days that cannot bring you near or will not, Distance trying to appear something more obstinate, argue argue argue with me
This is a day when truths will out… leak from the dangling telephone e… sapping the festooned switchboards… fall from the windows, blow from o… —the vague, slight unremarkable co…
The brown enormous odor he lived b… was too close, with its breathing… for him to judge. The floor was ro… was plastered halfway up with glas… Light—lashed, self—righteous, abov…
On the fair green hills of Rio There grows a fearful stain: The poor who come to Rio And can’t go home again. On the hills a million people,
Each day with so much ceremony begins, with birds, with bells, with whistles from a factory; such white—gold skies our eyes first open on, such brilliant wall…
In the cold, cold parlor my mother laid out Arthur beneath the chromographs: Edward, Prince of Wales, with Princess Alexandra,
We’d rather have the iceberg than… although it meant the end of trave… Although it stood stock—still like… and all the sea were moving marble… We’d rather have the iceberg than…
The rain has stopped. The waterfa… night. I have come out to take a w… that is—is wet and cold and covere… white, the size of a dinner plate.… certain rock, but it may well be d…
I caught a tremendous fish and held him beside the boat half out of water, with my hook fast in a corner of his mouth. He didn’t fight.
The still explosions on the rocks, the lichens, grow by spreading, gray, concentric sho… They have arranged to meet the rings around the moon,…
The state with the prettiest name, the state that floats in brackish… held together by mangrave roots that bear while living oysters in… and when dead strew white swamps w…
He sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast closed. The sails fall away below him like the sheets of his bed, leaving out in the air of the nigh…
Here is a coast; here is a harbor; here, after a meager diet of horiz… impractically shaped and—who knows… sad and harsh beneath their frivol… with a little church on top of one…