American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Feminism · Fragment · Glbt · Poetry

Adrienne Rich

And the stars in it are dim and maybe have stopped burning. But you burn, and I know it; as I throw back my head to take you in an old transfusion happens again: divine astronomy is nothing to it. — Adrienne Rich, from “Orion,” Leaflets Poems 1965-1968. (W. W. Norton & Company; First Edition… Continue reading Adrienne Rich

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African-American Culture · African-American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Feminism · Fragment · Glbt · Poetry · Race

Audre Lorde

Do not remember me as disaster nor as the keeper of secrets I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars watching you move slowly out of my bed saying we cannot waste time only ourselves. — Audre Lorde, from “Movement Song,” The Collected Poems of Audre Lorde (W. W. Norton and Company Inc. 1997)

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Canadian Culture · Canadian Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Feminism · Fragment · Poetry

Margaret Atwood

There is always more than you know. There are always boxes put away in the cellar, worn shoes and cherished pictures, notes you find later, sheet music you can’t play. — Margaret Atwood, from “Dancing,” Morning in the Burned House. (Mariner Books; Reprint edition September 16, 1996)

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American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Feminism · Fragment · Glbt · Poetry

Adrienne Rich

You want to ask, am I lonely? Well, of course, lonely as a woman driving across country day after day, leaving behind mile after mile little towns she might have stopped and lived and died in. — Adrienne Rich, from “Song,” Diving Into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972. (W. W. Norton & Company; Later edition edition… Continue reading Adrienne Rich

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Feminism · Glbt · Modernism · Poetry

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sorrow like a ceaseless rain       Beats upon my heart. People twist and scream in pain, — Dawn will find them still again; This has neither wax nor wane,       Neither stop nor start. People dress and go to town;       I sit in my chair. All my thoughts are slow and brown: Standing up… Continue reading Edna St. Vincent Millay

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