The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not...
How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics, Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has both read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war...
I want to begin this poem with two stories: 1. In 1984, my mother was pulled over for speeding in a rural, still unnamed village in Taishan. The cop was a forty-year-old man who let her go because of her age...
this concrete here is where my brother’s last breath left his body began to circulate elsewhere; some people will tell you there’s nothing poetic about black boys murdered
Mother Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church Nine Senior pastor state senator Name meaning “merciful” Church eldress, oldest to be shot Great grandnephew tries to shield her First and youngest shot College administrator and pastor Doctor her last name not a title Sunday school teacher Track coach and pastor Librarian Church sexton Seventy-four-year-old pastor