#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
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…
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
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
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
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…
