When I was getting ready to read at Dodge, I took a few minutes by myself and Lucille Clifton went by in a golf cart. She looked at me and gave me a knowing nod of acknowledgment. I'll never forget that. At least I had the chance to thank her at dinner for her poem I kept above my desk that helped me during my darkest days - "she lived"
Boy, did she ever.
she lived
after he died
what really happened is
she watched the days
bundle into thousands,
watched every act become
the history of others,
every bed more
narrow,
but even as the eyes of lovers
strained toward the milky young
she walked away
from the hole in the ground
deciding to live. and she lived.
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Beautiful
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