#Americans #Blacks #PulitzerPrize #Women #XIXCentury #XXCentury
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
She is the one who will notice that the first snapdragon of Spring is
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
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
When you thought me poor, my poverty was shaming. When blackness was unwelcome we found it best that I stay home.
When the people have won a victory whether small or large do you ever wonder
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
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
Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around
in our lifetime. Which makes the idea of elections Notice how this word has “man” right in the middle of it? That’s one reason I like it. He is right there, front and center. But he i...