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Wednesday, March 14, 2018

May You Sail Through . . .

Three Sisters
—Poems by Lucille Clifton (1936-2010)
—Photos by Katy Brown, Davis, CA



1994

i was leaving my fifty-eighth year
when a thumb of ice
stamped itself hard near my heart

you have your own story
you know about the fears the tears
the scar of disbelief

you know that the saddest lies
are the ones we tell ourselves
you know how dangerous it is

to be born with breasts
you know how dangerous it is
to wear dark skin

i was leaving my fifty-eighth year
when i woke into the winter
of a cold and mortal body

thin icicles hanging off
the one mad nipple weeping

have we not been good children
did we not inherit the earth

but you must know all about this
from your own shivering life



 Limes and Lemons



the garden of delight

for some
it is stone
bare smooth
as a buttock
rounding
into the crevasse
of the world

for some
it is extravagant
water    mouths wide
washing together
forever    for some
it is fire
for some air

and for some
certain only of the syllables
it is the element they
search their lives for

eden

for them
it is a test



 Becoming Yellow



poem in praise of menstruation

if there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon          if

there is a river
more faithful than this
returning each month
to the same delta          if there

is a river
braver than this
coming and coming in a surge
of passion, of pain          if there is

a river
more ancient than this
daughter of eve
mother of cain and of abel          if there is in

the universe such a river          if
there is some where water
more powerful than this wild
water
pray that it flows also
through animals
beautiful and faithful and ancient
and female and brave 



 Soup in a Bag
 


cutting greens

curling them around
i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black,
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and I taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.



 Sweet Potatoes
 


won't you celebrate with me

won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.



 Glass Angel
 


blessing the boats  (at St. Mary's)
 
may the tide
that is entering even now
the lip of our understanding
carry you out
beyond the face of fear
may you kiss
the wind then turn from it
certain that it will
love your back     may you
open your eyes to water
water waving forever
and may you in your innocence
sail through this to that

___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

People wish to be poets more than they wish to write poetry, and that’s a mistake. One should wish to celebrate more than one wishes to be celebrated.

—Lucille Clifton

___________________

Our gratitude to Katy Brown for today’s photos as we celebration the poetry of Lucille Clifton! For more about Lucille Clifton, go to www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/lucille-clifton/.

And a reminder that Poetry Off-the-Shelves meets today, 5-7pm, in Placerville at the El Dorado County Library on Fair Lane. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.

—Medusa



 Lucille Clifton
Won’t you celebrate with me?










Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.