I’m not sure why, but lately I’ve been returning to Lucille Clifton’s poem Kali. It’s not like there’s something in this poem that I personally identify with. In fact, I read it a bit like an outsider, looking in. But there’s something about the way it reads, and the way it feels when I read it.
The sensation is akin to rubbing a smooth piece of rounded marble with my thumb. I’ve flipped the book back to this page many times over the past few days, and each time I read this poem, I read it out loud. It just feels good to do so. And just now, it occurs to me that perhaps the joy I derive is in the reading itself, and not the poem. Hm. I’m not sure. I like the rhymes folded into this poem, and of course the quickness of the end.
I hope you like this poem. And I hope you read it out loud.
