Lucille

Lucille

55 карма
Lucille Clifton (June 27, 1936 – February 13, 2010)[1] was an American poet, writer, and educator from Buffalo, New York. From 1979 to 1985 she was Poet Laureate of Maryland. Clifton was a finalist twice for the Pulitzer Prize for poetry.
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won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
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i wish them cramps.
i wish them a strange town
and the last tampon.
i wish them no 7-11.
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the green of Jesus
is breaking the ground
and the sweet
smell of delicious Jesus
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who would believe them winged
who would believe they could be
beautiful who would believe
they could fall so in love with mortals
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for the eyes of the children,
the last to melt,
the last to vaporize,
for the lingering
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loaded like spoons
into the belly of Jesus
where we lay for weeks for months
in the sweat and stink
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for elaine philip on her birthday
me and you be sisters.
we be the same.
me and you
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if there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon if
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oh antic God
return to me
my mother in her thirties
leaned across the front porch
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a love person
from love people
out of the afrikan sun
under the sign of cancer.
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a woman unlike myself is running
down the long hall of a lifeless house
with too many windows which open on
a world she has no language for,
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mary is an old woman without shoes.
she doesn’t believe it.
not when her belly starts to bubble
and leave the print of a finger where
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hey music and
me
only white,
hair a flutter of
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they thought the field was wasting
and so they gathered the marker rocks and stones and
piled them into a barn they say that the rocks were shaped
some of them scratched with triangles and other forms they
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i would sit in the center of the world,
the Black Hills hooped around me and
dream of my dancing horse. my wife
was Black Shawl who gave me the daughter
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the time i dropped your almost body down
down to meet the waters under the city
and run one with the sewage to the sea
what did i know about waters rushing back
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