“When it snows,/ we walk boldly anywhere, as if the snow/ were a protection, or a death.”


Maureen Seaton
White people leave the express
at 96th Street, collectively,
like pigeons from a live wire
or hope from the hearts of Harlem.
And I’m one of them, although
my lover sleeps two stops north between
Malcolm X and Adam Clayton Powell
Boulevards, wishing my ass
were cupped inside her knees and belly,
(poetry diary 120) –wanted to post a poem about snow, since it’s snowing 🙂 , thought this one about weather and inequalities was better for this time-period than one that was simply pretty….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: