Classic Poem

There is a deep brooding
In Arkansas.
Old crimes like moss pend
from poplar trees.

Sunrise seems to hesitate
and in that second
lose its
incandescent aim, and
dusk no more shadows
than the noon.
The past is brighter yet.

Old hates and
ante-bellum lace, are rent
but not discarded.
Today is yet to come
in Arkansas.
It writhes. It writhes in awful
waves of brooding.











“My Arkansas”, copyright © 1978 by Maya Angelou. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.