We're not very creative but not adverse to rote-learning. Indeed, they can use us. But the “Model Minority” is a tease.

The icicles wreathing On trees in festoon Swing, swayed to our breathing: They’re made of the moon. She’s a pale, waxen taper; And these seem to drip Transparent as paper From the flame of her tip.

I die of thirst beside the fountain I'm hot as fire, I'm shaking tooth on tooth In my own country I'm in a distant land Beside the blaze I'm shivering in flames Naked as a worm, dressed like a ...

To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I ...

Red slippers in a shop-window; and outside in the street, flaws of gray, windy sleet! Behind the polished glass the slippers hang in long threads of red, festooning from the ceiling like stalactites ...

And to think I had just paid a cousin twenty dollars to shovel the walk. He and two of his buddies, still smelling of an all-nighter, arrived at 7 am to begin their work. When I left them a while ...

the promise God had made in the dream: to bring him Home before he tasted death . . . to wake him with the scent of flowers, proof of His presence. I learned to cry like that, as if I could sprain the ...

Jealousy. Whispered weather reports. The lure of the land so strong it prompts gossip: we chatter like small birds at the edge of the ocean gray, foaming. Now sand under sand hides the buried world, ...

As due by many titles I resign Myself to thee, O God. First I was made By Thee; and for Thee, and when I was decay’d Thy blood bought that, the which before was Thine. I am Thy son, made with Thyself ...