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105 words
Why I Write
I write because I could not bear the loss
Of all that makes this world worthwhile and grand:
Apollo, Odin, Vulcan, Perkanus,
Birch forests sprung from European land,
Marble arches, Doric columns, beer halls,
Vast castles perched upon the Thames and Rhine,
Blonde hair caught up in ringlets, Yuletide balls,
Maypoles, Shelley’s poems, Polish honey wine
In hive shaped bottles redolent of bees,
Van Gogh’s sunflowers in antique frames, beef
Wellington, cabbage rolls, bacon, blue cheese,
Saint George, King John, Hermanius. Belief
That such things — small or vast as each one might
Be — must not become lost . . . . is why I write.
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The Making of an American Trav
“I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
3,923 words
I’m not going to claim that I have been totally 1488 from day one or that I came goose-stepping out of the womb. But I think I have always been instinctively and intuitively a race realist. Or at least, I have been since around the age of 8. The first black person I ever met was this kid named Scooter when I was in kindergarten. This would have been in the early 80s. Read more …