Daughter of the Dust

Crystal Williams
“For the Woman Who Didn’t Know My Name”

Like a grain of dirt a letter rises

In some old men there is a softness
in voice a hint of dust y Alabama

a bit of grit

And later in the book we come across this appreciation of dirt (and an equal art of spacing)

When I die
my manicured hands,
which have always been plump
and found keyboards necessary,
will have a fine layer of dirt under their nails,
and will be known for their slow and gentle touch.

         I have planted cosmos, asters.

from “At 25, I Have Already Begun to Like Lou Rawls”

In case you missed it, there is a kinship between Kin and dust …

And so for day 2637

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.