leaves floating on freshening breezes, crispness in the air, penetrating colors, preparation for the quiet dark of winter

A Parable

Gregory Orr

The stone strikes the body, because

that is what stones will do.

The wound opens after the stone’s kiss,

too late to swallow the stone.

The wound and the stone become lovers.

The wound owes its life to the stone

and sings the stone’s praises.

The stone is moved. At the stone’s center,

a red hollow aches to touch the wound.

The gray walls of its body tear open

and the wound enters to dwell there.

A stranger picks up the stone

with the wound inside and carries it

with him until he dies.



[untitled]

lucille clifton​

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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.