when the crystal dreams of being the incandescent bubble of defeated metal. Dreaming is the extreme temptation to become confused. On the back of horses the mountain goes down to the plains. At the foot of the path a tree against the light the fruit hangs the way a moment flares flower of time. The world is the shells’ secret.
Esta é a hora mineral do crepúsculo
cando o cristal soña se-la burbulla incandescente do metal vencido. E soñar é a extrema tentación de confundirse. Ó lombo dos cabalos o monte baixa ás chairas. Ó pé do camiño unha árbore contraluz suspende o froito como un instante se prende flor de tempo. O mundo é o segredo das cunchas.
"In response to the uprisings across the globe demanding justice for Black lives, the Schomburg Center has created a Black Liberation Reading List. The 95 titles on the list represent books we and the public turn to regularly as activists, students, archivists, and curators, with a particular focus on books by Black authors and those whose papers we steward."
Resources for Supporting and Uplifting the Black Community
Black Voters Matter: "Our goal is to increase power in our communities. Effective votiing allows a community to determine its own destiny."
The Atlanta Solidarity Fund: "This bail fund in Atlanta is dedicated to those who have been arrested for protesting political injustice."
The Okra Project: "With the donations it receives, New York City-based The Okra Project fights food insecurity and 'pays black trans chefs to go into the homes of black trans people to cook them a healthy and home-cooked meal at absolutely no cost.' In addition, it provides free meal delivery to black trans people who are homeless or do not have adequate space in their homes for meal preparation by a chef."
Poetry Daily stands with the Black community. We oppose racism, oppression, and police brutality. We will continue to amplify diverse voices in the poetry world. Black Lives Matter.
"Yes—I did feel as if the top of my head had been taken off. I was desperately goth at the time, and those lines were the gothiest thing I had ever heard. And hearing them re-configured my ideas about what a poem could be. No roses! No violets! That day, I wrote eight poems. Thankfully, I don’t remember any of them—except the very first one."
