Poems from abeadle03
A month after I was born, in 1955,
Mother told me
Of the beginning of the bus boycott
Because a woman of color
Refused to give up her seat...
And that year I wished
To never forget this feeling
But by the time I got home
The feeling was gone.
I crave the gentle caress
Of your fingertips on my spine
And how your hands dance down my legs
And hold my face
So closely to yours.
I don’...