Poem
By Asha Futterman
my hands are still my hands
like my grandfather’s hands
are his hands and they
are on the window
attached to the body
of a cabbage white
and in the casket
attached to a face
that isn’t his face
he died shoveling snow
that melted the next day
poetry makes nothing
happen
like my grandfather’s hands
are his hands and they
are on the window
attached to the body
of a cabbage white
and in the casket
attached to a face
that isn’t his face
he died shoveling snow
that melted the next day
poetry makes nothing
happen
Poem
By Ellen June Wright
The caregiver calls to tell me about mother,
but I know she hasn’t slept. The security videos
of her restless…
but I know she hasn’t slept. The security videos
of her restless…
Poem
By Mo Fei
Translated By Wang Ping
As if sweet olives blossomed again after the first Bailu frost, shadows
Talk, tiger tail grass talks,…
Talk, tiger tail grass talks,…
Poem
By Kevin Young
Once, in winter, I was blessed
by lightning, the plane
sudden struck—the boom
of it, the cabin lit …
by lightning, the plane
sudden struck—the boom
of it, the cabin lit …
Poem
By Rodney Jones
It was July. I must have been sixteen or seventeen,
And proud to be chosen for a grown man’s work,
Hollowing out a box of air with a pick and a shovel
While the men above me, my father, grandfather,
And two of the dead man’s brothers who lived nearby
Encouraged me every now and then to take a break
And handed me a bottle of water from…
And proud to be chosen for a grown man’s work,
Hollowing out a box of air with a pick and a shovel
While the men above me, my father, grandfather,
And two of the dead man’s brothers who lived nearby
Encouraged me every now and then to take a break
And handed me a bottle of water from…
Watch and Listen
AudioOn this week’s episode, Brittany and Ajanae continue their mini tour of the South in Houston, Texas. Next, they talk with Texas Poet Laureate Lupe Mendez about familial…
