While Reading Lucille Clifton

my father visited me

while wind turned its nightly pages

and his grave gave purpose

to the movable earth.

his smile careening through

past and future summoned me.


I answered my sonhood furious and a man.


seeing at once all four corners of his life

I remember him despite myself

flirting with rage. I no longer believe in

the worst of my father. spoons

let go their heat. in his hand

his reflection right side up and singing.

Phillip B. Williams is the author of the poetry collections Thief in the Interior and Mutiny, as well as the novel Ours. He is a professor of creative writing at Rice University.
Originally published:
June 8, 2026

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