#AmericanWriters
All the Sioux were defeated. Our… got poor, but a few got richer. They fought two wars. I did not take part. No one remembers your v… or even your real name. Now
The well rising without sound, the spring on a hillside, the plowshare brimming through dee… everywhere in the field— The sharp swallows in their swerve
Ours are the streets where Bess f… cancer. She went to work every day… secure houses. At her job in the l… she arranged better and better flo… students asked for books her hand…
At noon in the desert a panting li… waited for history, its elbows ten… watching the curve of a particular… as if something might happen. It was looking at something farthe…
Your exact errors make a music that nobody hears. Your straying feet find the great… walking alone. And you live on a world where stum…
When there was air, when you could breathe any day if you liked, and… wanted to you could run. I used to climb those hills back of town and follow a gully so my eyes were at…
We would climb the highest dune, from there to gaze and come down: the ocean was performing; we contributed our climb. Waves leapfrogged and came
Most mornings I get away, slip ou… the door before light, set forth o… road, letting my feet find a caden… that softly carries me on. Nobody is up—all alone my journey begins.
Mine was a Midwest home—you can k… Plain black hats rode the thoughts… We sang hymns in the house; the ro… The light bulb that hung in the pa… but we could read by it the names…
When we first moved here, pulled the trees in around us, curled our backs to the wind, no one had ever hit the moon—no one. Now our trees are safer than the s…
Traveling through the dark I foun… dead on the edge of the Wilson Ri… It is usually best to roll them in… that road is narrow; to swerve mig… By glow of the tail-light I stumb…
If you don’t know the kind of pers… and I don’t know the kind of perso… a pattern that others made may pre… and following the wrong god home w… For there is many a small betrayal…
This is the field where the battle… where the unknown soldier did not… This is the field where grass join… where no monument stands, and the only heroic thing is the s…
Turn Over Your Hand Those lines on your palm, they can… for a hidden part of your life tha… those links can say—nobody’s voice can find so tiny a message as come…
There’s a thread you follow. It g… things that change. But it doesn’t… People wonder about what you are p… You have to explain about the thre… But it is hard for others to see.