Sunday, February 14, 2010

RIP, Lucille Clifton.

“oh antic God”
(Lucille Clifton)

oh antic God
return to me
my mother in her thirties
leaned across the front porch
the huge pillow of her breasts
pressing against the rail
summoning me in for bed.

I am almost the dead woman’s age times two.

I can barely recall her song
the scent of her hands
though her wild hair scratches my dreams
at night. return to me, oh Lord of then
and now, my mother’s calling,
her young voice humming my name.


  1. Oh what a great loss. And hard to believe. I don't know. She seemed timeless to me.

  2. She did.

    It's funny. I grew up in upstate NY, and Clifton was such a presence. Her work could annoy me more than fingernails on a chalkboard. But then other times, this poem for instance, so extraordinary.

  3. "though her wild hair scratches my dreams"

    So good.

    Thank you for the news, I didn't know she had died.