One of the best things about majoring in English in college was all of the amazing writing I was exposed to. My sophomore year, I took a class about women and literature. One of the writers we covered was the poet Lucille Clifton. The raw emotion in much of her work, the straightforward way she had of expressing both the most beautiful and most ugly aspects of human existence, were both things that made her an instant hero to me. One of her most celebrated poems, “Homage to my Hips,” is a source of pride for hip-py women everywhere (including yours truly.)

I thought I’d share another of my favorite poems by Clifton (this one about cutting kale and collards, something I’ve done several times, and thought of this poem each time) in memory of her.

cutting greens
by Lucille Clifton

curling them around
i hold their bodies in obscene embrace
thinking of everything but kinship.
collards and kale
strain against each strange other
away from my kissmaking hand and
the iron bedpot.
the pot is black.
the cutting board is black,
my hand,
and just for a minute
the greens roll black under the knife,
and the kitchen twists dark on its spine
and i taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere.