#Americans #Blacks #Women
Lying, thinking Last night How to find my soul a home Where water is not thirsty And bread loaf is not stone
The sun has come. The mist has gone. We see in the distance... our long way home. I was always yours to have.
Your hands easy weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at th… slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press
One innocent spring your voice meant to me less than tires turning on a distant street. Your name, perhaps spoken,
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise. Does my sassiness upset you?
When I think about myself, I almost laugh myself to death, My life has been one great big jok… A dance that’s walked A song that’s spoke,
She came home running back to the mothering blackness deep in the smothering blackness white tears icicle gold plains of… She came home running
Tears The crystal rags Viscous tatters Of a worn-through soul Moans
Beloveds, now we know that we know… Without notice, our dear love can… In the instant that Michael is go… Though we are many, each of us is… Only when we confess our confusion…
Her arms semaphore fat triangles, Pudgy hands bunched on layered hip… Where bones idle under years of fa… And lima beans. Her jowls shiver in accusation
Your skin like dawn Mine like musk One paints the beginning of a certain end. The other, the end of a
A last love, proper in conclusion, should snip the wings forbidding further flight. But I, now,
The night has been long, The wound has been deep, The pit has been dark, And the walls have been steep. Under a dead blue sky on a distant…
He bad O he bad He make a honky poot. Make it honky’s blue eyes squint
I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry
