#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 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
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
My brothers knew The things you know. I did not scorn learning them; It’s just my mind
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
Let other leaders Retire To play golf & write Memoirs
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they