what color is your collar Boss is your backbone sore from bending over when you clap your hand against your thigh does a little cloud of dust fly off
I showed up for jury duty— turns out the one on trial was me.
Whenever I see sheets drying on the line or smell gumbo simmering on the stove, a flood of memories comes to me. In 1953 when I traveled in the rural South with a group of students, we received the generosity of strangers—African Americans...
Not plumes. Not plumes from the teapot’s throat. But force, unseen, the space
The years of my youth, my sensual life—how clearly I see their meaning now.
Me & the Devil are rivals for God’s affection.
