You might as well answer the door, my child, the truth is furiously knocking.

You might as well answer the door, my child, the truth is furiously knocking.

they ask me to remember but they want me to remember their memories and I keep on remembering mine

I am a black woman poet and I sound like one.

Poems come out of wonder, not out of knowing.

We cannot create what we can't imagine.

wishes for sons by Lucille Clifton i wish them cramps. i wish them a strange town and the last tampon. I wish them no 7-11. i wish them one week early and wearing a white skirt. i wish them one week late. later i wish them hot flashes and clots like you wouldn't believe. let the flashes come when they meet someone special. let the clots come when they want to. let them think they have accepted arrogance in the universe, then bring them to gynecologists not unlike themselves.