#AmericanWriters
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Don’t be like those who ask for ev… praise, a blurb, a free ride in my… limousine. They ask for everything… anything in return. Be like those who can see that my…
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
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...
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
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
Did you ever understand this? If my spirit was poor, how could… Was I depressed? Understanding editing, I see how a comma, removed or inse…
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…