Goodness begins simply with the fact of life itself.
Nothing could stop Mississippi.
The forties and fifties were years of high poet-incense; the language-flowers were thickly sweet. Those flowers whined and begged white folks to pick them, to find them lovable. Then the '60s: Independent fire!
With melted opals for my milk, Pearl-leaf for my cracker.
It is brave to be involved. To be not fearful to be unresolved.
We don't ask a flower any special reason for its existence. We just look at it and are able to accept it as being something different from ourselves.