#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
His posture From so many years Holding his robe with one hand Is odd. His gait
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
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
Going out to the garden this morning to plant seeds for my winter greens —the strong, fiery mustard
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely
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
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
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...
My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder