our dreams draw blood from old sores.

I am gonna write poems til i die and when i have gotten outta this body i am gonna hang round in the wind and knock over everybody who got their feet on the ground.

I've never thought of leaving the South, never.

somebody/ anybody sing a black girl's song bring her out to know herself to know you but sing her rhythms carin/ struggle/ hard times sing her song of life she's been dead so long closed in silence so long she doesn't know the sound of her own voice her infinite beauty she's half-notes scattered without rhythm/ no tune sing her sighs sing the song of her possibilities sing a righteous gospel let her be born let her be born & handled warmly.

The slaves who were ourselves had known terror intimately, confused sunrise with pain, & accepted indifference as kindness.

my spirit is too ancient to understand the separation of soul & gender

Novels allow me to create a whole world.