Cutting Greens

Poem By Lucille Clifton

curling them around
i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black.
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and i taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.

Comments about Cutting Greens

the green is the bond of life, a medium of surviving//
Nice poem. Enjoyed reading. Thanks for sharing.
Lot, spot! This pot is black. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Interesting and enjoyable read.


Rating Card

3,3 out of 5
26 total ratings

Other poems of CLIFTON

Homage To My Hips

these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little

I Am Accused Of Tending To The Past

i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.

Miss Rosie

when I watch you
wrapped up like garbage
sitting, surrounded by the smell
of too old potato peels

Good Times

my daddy has paid the rent
and the insurance man is gone
and the lights is back on
and my uncle brud has hit

Poem In Praise Of Menstruation

if there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon if

Lorena

it lay in my palm soft and trembled
as a new bird and i thought about
authority and how it always insisted
on itself, how it was master