Old As She Was, She Still Missed

There Is A Problem In America. An Irish Or Polish American Can Write A Story And It's An American Story. When A Black American Writes A Story, It's Called A Black Story. I Take Exception To That. Every Artist Has Articulated To His Own Experience. The Problem Is That Some People Do Not See Blacks As Americans.

She Could Walk Through A Lightning Storm Without Being Touched; Grab A Bolt Of Lightning In The Palm Of Her Hand; Use The Heat Of Lightning To Start The Kindling Going Under Her Medicine Pot. She Turned The Moon Into Salve, The Stars Into Swaddling Cloth, And Healed The Wounds Of Every Creature Walking Up On Two Or Down On Four.

Contempt Mates Well With Pity.

We Get So Caught Up In What A Man Isn't. It's What He Is That Counts.

Once I Unlocked The Mystery Of The Alphabet That Led To Words, A Multitude Of Words Connecting Me To The World, There Was No Stopping Me.