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a rock she's been saving holding down the corner of a place that bleeds on the stitched borders of her mind and the children play there if they come with bulldozers she's prepared this time this is the subversive they'll find hiding in her pantry a rock from the old house they bulldozed last time…

John T. Allen, you had only $3.25. But now you are somewhere rubbing your arm, putting alcohol on that cracked cheek, now redder than when you went out into the cold. Somewhere you are opening the window to let that Melbourne Avenue light embrace you—but you know, I never did touch you. Remember? I had…

I There's a sky with nothing in it— No parachute, as if to save you, Has buckled from the empty ceiling: Your nieces must be taken to the zoo; Their voices are squeaky like vermilion cellophane. The hill to the antelopes you storm, but their shoes Are wrong for such an outing: the straps will…

James Arthur Baldwin 1924-1987 Hungers of the flesh, the timeless terror of our need, the barter of our liberty for lies, these were your watchwords and your witness, the steel of your surrender to our song: True believer, I want to cross over into camp ground. One fiery still November, not in Harlem, nor Paris,…

Now I'm Rembrandt's age when he died. For years I've been tracking his self-portraits in the museums of Europe and America, watching the bright eyes of his twenties gradually sadden into old age. In those last portraits he seems to be saying, “I have seen enough, lost enough, died enough.” But when I look at…

You are right, but your patch isn't big enough. —Jesse Jackson When a cure is found and the last panel is sewn into place, the Quilt will be displayed in a permanent home as a national monument to the individual, irreplaceable people lost to AIDS—and the people who knew and loved them most. —Cleve Jones,…