Monday, January 31
STUDY THE MASTERS like my aunt timmie. it was her iron, or one like hers, that smoothed the sheets the master poet slept on. home or hotel, what matters is he lay himself down on her handiwork and dreamed. she dreamed too, words: some cherokee, some masai and some huge and particular as hope. if you had heard her chanting as she ironed you would understand form and line and discipline and order and america. (Lucille Clifton)