December 0

Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

Roots by Charlotte Watson Sherman

I am sorry you are
proud of the man
who raped your
great-great-great
grandmother and left
your hair good.
Please, this is not
envy it is sorrow
for the long road
we must travel
to be sisters. My
lineage can be traced
through the roots
of my hair to
Nairobi. Do not
try to make me
ashamed of this f
act, sorry my hair
grows in dry tight
cottonfields on my
head and will not
fly in the wind
like to woman I am not….

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

Pour O pour that parting soul in song, O pour it in the sawdust glow of night. Into the velvet pine-smoke air to-night. And let the valley carry it... SONG OF THE SON by N. Jean Toomer.
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