#AmericanWriters
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
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
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
You confide in me that you are lonely,
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely