#AmericanWriters #BlackWriters #FemaleWriters #PulitzerPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
Remember When we ended It all —for a weekend— & how
Reminding us, as they witnessed our curiosity about them, that no matter the losses, there’s something fabulous going on at every stage of Life, something to let go of, maybe, but for d...
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
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
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…
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
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
Did you ever understand this? If my spirit was poor, how could… Was I depressed? Understanding editing, I see how a comma, removed or inse…
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
I said to Poetry:"I’m finished with you." Having to almost die before some wierd light comes creeping through