Pascal’s Wager – Suzanne Cleary Pascal’s Wager is the kind of thing you would discuss with a beer in your hand, but then there was always a beer in one of your hands, or passing from one to the other, that summer we talked on your porch, those rainy upstate nights, hot pavement steaming as … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Suzanne Cleary
How to Pray – Barbara Hamby Falling down on your knees is the easy part, like drinking a glass of cold water on a hot day, the parched straw of your throat flooded, your knees hitting the ground, a prizefighter in the final rounds. You’re bloody, your bones like iron ties, hands trembling in the … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Barbara Hamby
When the Burning Begins – Patricia Smith for Otis Douglas Smith, my father The recipe for hot water cornbread is simple: Cornmeal, hot water. Mix till sluggish, then dollop in a sizzling skillet. When you smell the burning begin, flip it. When you smell the burning begin again, dump it onto a plate. You’ve got … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Patricia Smith
Oranges Gary Soto The first time I walked With a girl, I was twelve, Cold, and weighted down With two oranges in my jacket. December. Frost cracking Beneath my steps, my breath Before me, then gone, As I walked toward Her house, the one whose Porch light burned yellow Night and day, in any weather. … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Gary Soto
She was a scruffy little thing when they handed her to me. Fingers in mouth. Brushy black hair worn off in back from scrubbing her head back and forth on the crib mattress. Skinny legs kicking wildly below a little sleeveless purple-and-white striped number. We first laid eyes on each other in a stuffy room … Continue reading My baby done graduated
your own PDK for writing
a collection of beautiful words.....
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
“My mother is a poem I’ll never be able to write, though everything I write is a poem to my mother.” ~ Sharon Doubiago
The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
