To hear the poet read "Evening," click here or on the title.
Sometimes she's Confucian--
resolute in privation ...
Each day, more immobile,
hip not mending, legs swollen;
still she carries her grief
with a hard steadiness.
Twelve years uncompanioned,
there's no point longing for
what can't return. This morning,
she tells me, she found a sick
robin, hunched in the damp dirt
by the blossoming white
azalea. Still there at noon--
she went out in the yard
with her 4-pronged metal cane--
it appeared to be dying.
Tonight, when she looked again,
the bird had disappeared and
in its place, under the bush,
was a tiny egg--
"beautiful robin's-egg blue"--
she carried carefully indoors.
"Are you keeping it warm?"
I ask--what am I thinking?--
And she: "Gail, I don't want
a bird, I want a blue egg."
TODAY IN SLATE
False rape accusations exist, and they are a serious problem.
Scotland Is Just the Beginning. Expect More Political Earthquakes in Europe.
No, New York Times, Shonda Rhimes Is Not an “Angry Black Woman”
The Music Industry Is Ignoring Some of the Best Black Women Singing R&B
How Will You Carry Around Your Huge New iPhone? Apple Pants!
The Most Terrifying Thing About Ebola
The disease threatens humanity by preying on humanity.
The Other Huxtable Effect
Thirty years ago, The Cosby Show gave us one of TV’s great feminists.