Charleston SC poetry
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(a poem about lynchings) If the Angel Oak tree could talk, she’d tell us stories we don’t want to hear. Her family has been roped into being the backdrop of racism’s roots, her friends had no choice but to stand, stoic through storms that bore strange fruit. She’d tell you about the relentless weight of […]
in Charleston, we don’t need to be persuaded to party. the shadow of spring is reason enough to take slow sips of liquid sunshine in the predictable newness of January, the unexpected heat of February, the blooming business of March. in Charleston, we sing gospel hymns to gin on holy and humid afternoons to douse […]
a poem about … poetry. i read this in classrooms to get students excited about the art form. filmed at burke high school.
There will be a day when I won’t need mirrors because looking into your eyes will be the only reflection I’ll need to see myself.
Some of the mirrors in my mind’s eye are broken. I’ve spent too much time trying to get clean – wiping thumb prints from my face, covering insecurities, fixing my hair, not fixing my mind. But, to deny what makes me beautiful is to deny my mother’s smile, my father’s eyes, my future grandchildren, my […]
Slippery words spill out of us and fall to the floor as we fumble over ourselves on the trip back to the bar.
I remember when love was an elusive spider – an intruder that kept trying to creep into my life, crawling between the cracks of hardwood floors before disappearing into the shadows of sleepless nightmares. I spent restless years trapped by distraction, haunted by a thing I could not catch, but secretly wanting a tarantula to […]
I. deep down, i know that you can’t take away my shine. it’s been perfected over generations of mining. my ancestors spent years digging through dirt for any sign of a gem, any treasure that can peek through parasites. but the past is so dirty and deep-rooted that sometimes i am too tired to dig […]
have you ever taken a photo of a mountain? a screen never quite captures the magic. to reduce a massive, complex miracle to pixels is criminal. it’s too simple. we do the same to ourselves.
we are holding on to life as if it isn’t constantly slipping from our hands. the longer we live, the more it feels like we should be lucky to be bodies that bottle water. we are grasping breath until it overflows and spills completely away.