I once heard someone say that poetry does not exist to make you comfortable; and although Lucille Clifton’s writing is musical and honest, it reveals a great deal of painful things about her life as well as human nature in general. Some of her poems are ironic, like “Donor” in which she hopes her body does not reject a kidney from her child who she so desperately tried to reject. Others are sad, like “August” and “Heaven” which talk about her deceased brother. Still others use “the moon” and “white lady” as symbols for her abusive father and drug addiction. These poems are so simple, yet so complex all at once and I really enjoyed reading them.