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Home Alone ‘Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

‘Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

Polly, June 29, 2013

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I think Mr. Wilson will have to be the rest of the way alone.

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To share our stories is not only a worthwhile endeavor for the storyteller, but for those who hear our stories and feel less alone because of it.

Polly

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We are the only class in history that has been left to fight its battles alone, unaided by the ruling powers. White labor and the freed black men had their champions, but where are ours?

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That we find a crystal or a poppy beautiful means that we are less alone, that we are more deeply inserted into existence than the course of a single life would lead us to believe.

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Getting through the nights is the toughest part. Being alone. Not having her there to talk to.

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One ever feels his twoness – an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

One ever feels his twoness – an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

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