I am in here.
This is a story handed down.It is about the old days when Billand Florence and a lot of their kinlived in the little tin-roofed housebeside the woods, below the hill.Mornings, they went up the hillto work, Florence to the house,the men and boys to the field.Evenings, they all came home again.There would be talk then … Continue reading Creation Myth
I wonder if conversation does for human beings what the river at night does for the streetlights… it smooths them out, ripples them, attenuates. It lets them be something other than themselves, but still attached to the original. The river at night shows them what they’re not: sparkling, moving, changing.
childhood remembrances are always a drag if you’re Black you always remember things like living in Woodlawn with no inside toilet and if you become famous or something they never talk about how happy you were to have your mother all to yourself and how good the water felt when you got your bath from … Continue reading Nikki-Rosa
Down at the Mercantile Library, they are getting together a poetry-writing group to meet at Wednesday lunchtimes, or perhaps even only once a month. My initial reaction to this bit of news was, “Eeek! I ain’t going near that!” Since then, I have had a lot of time to reflect on the possibilities of the … Continue reading nogroup
white pebble 