#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Word reaches us that you are sleeping, sleeping. Dismayed we have turned to the sea. We encounter among others
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
The tree of life has fallen on my small house. I thought it was so much bigger! But it is not. There in the distance I see the m…
To change the world enough you must cease to be afraid of the poor. We experience your fear as the lea… humiliations; in the past
With your unknown to me Odd magic You came To me:
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
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot