#AmericanWriters
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
How quiet It is in this sick room Where on the bed A silent woman lies between two lo… Life and Death,
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
Down in the bass That steady beat Walking walking walking Like marching feet. Down in the bass