#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
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...
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
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 the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract