(1979)
#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize
Across the floor flits the mechani… fit for a king of several centurie… A little circus horse with real wh… His eyes are glossy black. He bears a little dancer on his ba…
September rain falls on the house. In the failing light, the old gran… sits in the kitchen with the child beside the Little Marvel Stove, reading the jokes from the almanac…
It was cold and windy, scarcely th… to take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as… indrawn: the tide far out, the oce… seabirds in ones or twos.
We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is righ…
He sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast closed. The sails fall away below him like the sheets of his bed, leaving out in the air of the nigh…
Now can you see the monument? It… built somewhat like a box. No. Bu… like several boxes in descending s… one above the other. Each is turned half—way round so t…
Here is a coast; here is a harbor; here, after a meager diet of horiz… impractically shaped and—who knows… sad and harsh beneath their frivol… with a little church on top of one…
Oh, why should a hen have been run over on West 4th Street in the middle of summer? She was a white hen
The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at hersel… but she never, never smiles) far and away beyond sleep, or
There are too many waterfalls here… hurry too rapidly down to the sea, and the pressure of so many clouds… makes them spill over the sides in… turning to waterfalls under our ve…
Minnow, go to sleep and dream, Close your great big eyes; Round your bed Events prepare The pleasantest surprise. Darling Minnow, drop that frown,
The rain has stopped. The waterfa… night. I have come out to take a w… that is—is wet and cold and covere… white, the size of a dinner plate.… certain rock, but it may well be d…
My love, my saving grace, your eyes are awfully blue. I kiss your funny face, your coffee-flavored mouth. Last night I slept with you.
Remembering the Strait of Belle… some northerly harbor of Labrador, before he became a schoolteacher a great—uncle painted a big pictur… Receding for miles on either side
This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons a… Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint