For one of our Elizabeths and for mauve countries and hemispheres, from No More Masks: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets, edited by Florence Howe.
from For Elizabeth Bishop / by Sandra McPherson
Your smaller admirer off to school,
I take the globe and roll it away; where
On it now is someone like you?
For the academy in all its versions, from No More Masks: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets, edited by Florence Howe.
from A Poem for my Most Intelligent 10:30 AM Class / Fall 1985 / by Sonia Sanchez
i had come to this room from other
rooms. footsteps walking from
under my feet. and i saw
your faces eavesdropping on shadows
For charts and small seas, from No More Masks: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets, edited by Florence Howe.
from I Might Have Sung of the World / by Sara Teasdale
I might have sung of the world
And said what I heard them say
Of the vast and passing dream
Of today and yesterday.
For women of every varying belief today, from No More Masks: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Women Poets.
from The Sisters / by Amy Lowell
Sappho would speak, I think, quite openly,
And, Mrs. Browning guard a careful silence,
But Emily would set doors ajar and slam them
And love you for your speed of observation.
For the day and its implications for everything, from an article on poetryfoundation.org:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/92130.
from Carolyn Forche’s epigraph for Against Forgetting / by Bertolt Brecht, translated by ______
For rising to the occasion, which is hopefully what will happen on this day, from Picnic, Lightning.
from What I Learned Today / by Billy Collins
I had never heard of John Bernard Flannagan,
American sculptor,
until I found him on page 961
of the single-volume encyclopedia I am reading
at the rate of one page each day.
For the new landscape of the new year, and naturally, for this weekend’s playoffs, from Poems of Paul Celan, translated by Michael Hamburger.
from Draft of a Landscape / by Paul Celan
Lavas, basalts, glowing
stone from the world’s heart.
Wellspring tuff
where light grew for us, before
our breath.
For finally finishing the amazing play, A Raisin in the Sun, from one of my favorite poems, the epigraph.
from What happens to a dream deferred / by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
For weather, from an Iowan’s poem, from poetryfoundation.org. Our weather page here in the valley scheduled rain for every day this week; in our time of drought, anything from the sky met mostly ecstatic umbrellas this week.
from Ode to a Blizzard / by Tom Disch
For bookstores, from Memoir of the Hawk. When I was younger, I traveled the United States in search of great, used bookstores. I found so many! In related news, I miss you so much, Mr. Tate.
from Memory / by James Tate
Bookstore with a donkey in its heart,
bookstore full of clouds and
sometimes lighting, showers.
Books just in from Australia,
books by madmen and giants.
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