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(June 27, 1936 - February 13, 2010 / Baltimore, Maryland)

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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.
this past was waiting for me
when i came,
a monstrous unnamed baby,
and i with my mother's itch
took it to breast
and named it
History.
she is more human now,
learning languages everyday,
remembering faces, names and dates.
when she is strong enough to travel
on her own, beware, she will.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: travel, history, baby, mother, remember

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Comments about this poem (memory by Lucille Clifton )

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  • Richard Hexem (3/29/2010 10:52:00 PM)

    One of the better writers I've read in a while.

    3 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
  • Leslie Audes (2/17/2010 9:19:00 PM)

    a mantra for anyone who goes beyond what they've inherited. great piece!

  • Faith Elizabeth Brigham (10/2/2005 9:31:00 AM)

    You go girl! It doesn't get
    any better than this
    powerfully penned poetess
    puts it down like it is
    never a false word spilling
    from her love-filled lips

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