Lockdown Poetry: Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes, ‘Harlem’

What happens to a dream deferred?

      Does it dry up

      like a raisin in the sun?

      Or fester like a sore—

      And then run?

      Does it stink like rotten meat?

      Or crust and sugar over—

      like a syrupy sweet?

Chosen by Elodie Rousselot.