It’s prime garden time here in Austin, one of those rare moments of lushness in our often scruffy, prickly environment. The greens in my veggie beds are insistent in their brightness, and they brought me to this little domestic scene from Lucille Clifton. In this reading, she said, “Greens aren’t funny. Greens are good.” Greens are good.
(Also wonderful is poet Terrance Haye’s more recent reading of this poem.)
“i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.”
