Construct a comprehensive profile of the microorganism.Name of M.docx

Construct a comprehensive profile of the microorganism.
Name of Microorganism:
___________Rhinovirus_______________________
1. Description of the Microorganism
a) Write a paragraph describing your organism. Please be sure
to include the type of organism (bacterial, viral, fungal,
protozoa, helminth, etc), morphology (shape, arrangement ,
colony morphology if applicable), description of structure
(gram result, type of nucleic acid or virion structure, spore type,
etc if applicable) and also the type of microscope and/or stain
you would use to view the organism. Please use proper
scientific terminology and good grammar and sentence structure
throughout this project.
2. Virulence Factors
a) Include a paragraph on the virulence factors the pathogen has
and how they affect the host. Please enhance this with detailed
explanations of the virulence factors and how they affect the
host as you gain a better understanding of them throughout the
semester.
3. Immunity
a) Which defenses protect us from infection by this bacterium?
b) Does this pathogen induce a specific type of immune
response (example: delayed-type hypersensitivity)? If so, which
one(s)?
4. Pathology (Infectious Disease Information)
a. What condition(s) or infectious disease(s) does it cause?
b. Which tissues or organs are affected, and how are they
affected (for example, chronic TB is characterized by lung
tubercles)? Record your answers in the table below.
c. Describe the complications that can result if the infection is

left untreated.
d. Are these acute, chronic, or latent infections?
e. What organ system(s) does it infect?
f. Is it an opportunistic pathogen? If so, where is it normally
found in the body?
5. Epidemiology
a. Draw and label a diagram on how this organism is
transmitted. Make sure you include the reservoirs of infection,
any vectors if involved in transmission, the type of
transmission, and portals of entry and exit.
6. Presentations
Provide a written, detailed description of a hypothetical patient.
Be imaginative and create a hypothetical situation that would
correspond with your microorganism. This is expected to be at
least 8-10 sentences in length and is expected to be
comprehensive and detailed. You are expected to include
descriptions of:
a. Signs and symptoms, using correct terminology
b. Patient history, including any situation that could explain
how the infection was acquired (for example, if a food-borne
intoxication is involved, when and how it could have been
ingested?)
c. Any condition that could have predisposed the patient to
infection (diabetes; immunosuppressive therapy; burns, etc.).
Note: Avoid the term “persons who are immune compromised,"
for 2 reasons: It is a vague condition that has a variety of
etiologies, and it is assumed that all persons who are “immune
compromised” are at risk for all infectious diseases.
d. Any data-specific indicators that would be important in a
clinical setting, for example, urea or sugar levels in the blood or
urine, elevated WBC, elevated CO2 levels, etc.):
7. Prevention
a. Is there a childhood vaccine against this microbe? Name of

vaccine
b. If so, when is it administered (the recommended schedule,
including boosters if recommended)?
c. If the vaccine is not recommended during childhood, which
at-risk group should get the vaccine, and when?
d. Describe the type of vaccine and how it works:
e. If there is no vaccine available, list at least three measures
that can be implemented to prevent people from acquiring this
infection.
8. Treatment
a. Chemotherapeutic agents:
b. Mechanism of action for these chemotherapeutic agents:
c. Why is this agent efficacious against this particular
organism?
d. Additional therapeutic agents or practices:
9. Clinical relevance
a. Are there any MDR (multi-drug resistant) strains of this
microorganism? If so, name the strain(s)
b. Is this strain a known healthcare-associated pathogen?
c. Which persons/procedures within a clinical or healthcare-
assisted setting are particularly at risk
d. Which antibiotics are used against the multi-drug resistant
strains? Be specific
10. References
Include at least 4 APA style references (scientifically
appropriate credible resources) that show where you found the
information in this microorganism profile.

ENG 122 "Everyday Use" Exercise UE SLO Rubric
Name
Date
Performance Levels
SLOs Criteria No Evidence Partial Evidence Solid Evidence
CT1 What is Alice Walker's purpose in writing
"Everyday Use"
Identification of purpose is vague
and/or does not elaborate or exmplify
the purpose
Clearly identifies the purpose of the
writing, with only limited
elaboration/exemplification
Clearly identifies the purpose of the
writing using
elaboration/exemplificaction and/or
the vocabulary of the discipline
CT2 When we have a first person narrator, we
have to decide if she is reliable or
unreliable. Do you trust this narrator? Why

or why not?
States assumptions without analysis.
Relies on questionable assumptions.
Writing explicitly addresses the
assumptions of the work and grounds
these assumptions in a larger context
(cultural background, gender)
Writing explicitly addresses the
assumption of the work and grounds
these assumptions in a larger context
(cultural background, gender)
including in-depth assumptions based
on the discipline
CT3 How would this story be different if it were
told from Dee/Wangero's perspective?
Acknowledges existence of more
than one point of view, but only
considers one

More than one point of view is
explained, including the point(s)
of view of the discipline.
More than one point of view is
explained, including the point(s)
of view of the discipline. Points of
view are evaluated for relevance
to this particular assignment.
CC2 Considering the reading guide questions
for this assignemnt and your previous
explorations of this work, what is your
opinion regarding Mama's decision to give
the quilt to Maggie?
The decision made is based on
only some of the information
presented
the culmination of most steps to
critical thinking and addresses

the core values
the culmination of all steps to
critical thinking and explicitly
addresses the role of core values
and the values of discipline, as
appropriate
Comments:
Score
ENG 122 – UE Assignment
Read Alice Walker’s "Everyday Use" and answer the questions
below that are geared toward helping you
understand her narrative point of view and purpose. Offer
specific support from the text. You are
encouraged to complete a first draft of the assignment then
revise your work.
Submit the assignment to the Chalk & Wire link no later than
Sunday 11:59 PM EST/EDT. (This
assignment is linked to Turnitin.)

1. What do you know about the mother of the story?
2. When we have a first-person narrator, we have to decide if
she is reliable or unreliable. Do you trust
this narrator? Why or why not?
3. What assumptions does the narrator have about her
daughters? Do you agree? Why?
4. How would the story be different if it were told from
Dee/Wangero’s perspective?
5. Mama and Dee/Wangero have different ideas about personal
development. What are they? What are
the consequences of their differences?
6. Based on your answers to all of the above, offer your opinion
of Mama’s decision to give the quilt to
Maggie.
7. How does Walker define heritage?
8. What is Walker’s purpose? What is the central problem she is
addressing?

9. What is the theme of “Everyday Use?”
Chapter 8Family and Identity
The American family dynamic of the twenty-first century is
fluid and evolving. Hollywood and traditional values offer us a
typical love story that develops between a man and woman,
followed by marriage, children, economic success, and a
happily-ever-after type of ending. Of course, the well-
documented reality is that many couples neither live happily
together nor ever after. In fact, couples are choosing
cohabitation without marriage and, increasingly, without
children. Meanwhile, a parent may be pushing the baby in the
stroller without a partner or, perhaps, with a partner of the same
sex. Some applaud these variations on the family; after all, they
argue, a loving family is a healthy one, and neither laws nor
social custom should attempt to dictate the bonds of love.
Equally passionate are those who decry these variations. They
claim that the collapse of the traditional (heterosexual, two-
parent) family structure has eroded “family values” and
instigated a contagion of social illnesses that threaten the moral
fiber of the country. Clearly, no single definition of the family
can be agreed upon; even so, most of us do agree upon the
primary importance of family in our individual lives and, as
adults, aspire to create a family of our own—however different
that family may be.
As you read the story, poems, and essays in this chapter, some
pieces undoubtedly will reinforce your assumptions and ideas
about family and identity, while others may provoke you to
question assumptions.
When you look to the past and to the future, how do you assess
the “state” of the family? And how do your experiences with

family shape your identity as an individual? As you read the
selections in this chapter, you may ask yourself what story you
have to tell and how it “connects [you] to a history” that shapes
your identity.
Ernest Hemingway
Read the BiographyHills Like White Elephants [1927]
The hills across the valley of the Ebro were long and white. On
this side there was no shade and no trees and the station was
between two lines of rails in the sun. Close against the side of
the station there was the warm shadow of the building and a
curtain, made of strings of bamboo beads, hung across the open
door into the bar, to keep out flies. The American and the girl
with him sat at a table in the shade, outside the building. It was
very hot and the express from Barcelona would come in forty
minutes. It stopped at this junction for two minutes and went on
to Madrid.
“What should we drink?” the girl asked. She had taken off her
hat and put it on the table.
“It’s pretty hot,” the man said.
“Let’s drink beer.”
5“Dos cervezas,” the man said into the curtain.
“Big ones?” a woman asked from the doorway.
“Yes. Two big ones.”
The woman brought two glasses of beer and two felt pads. She
put the felt pads and the beer glasses on the table and looked at
the man and the girl. The girl was looking off at the line of
hills. They were white in the sun and the country was brown and
dry.
“They look like white elephants,” she said.
10“I’ve never seen one,” the man drank his beer.
“No, you wouldn’t have.”
“I might have,” the man said. “Just because you say I wouldn’t
have doesn’t prove anything.”
The girl looked at the bead curtain. “They’ve painted something
on it,” she said. “What does it say?”
“Anis del Toro. It’s a drink.”

15“Could we try it?”
The man called “Listen” through the curtain. The woman came
out from the bar.
“Four reales.”
“We want two Anis del Toro.”
“With water?”
20“Do you want it with water?”
“I don’t know,” the girl said. “Is it good with water?”
“It’s all right.”
“You want them with water?” asked the woman.
“Yes, with water.”
25“It tastes like licorice,” the girl said and put the glass down.
“That’s the way with everything.”
“Yes,” said the girl. “Everything tastes of licorice. Especially
all the things you’ve waited so long for, like absinthe.”
“Oh, cut it out.”
“You started it,” the girl said. “I was being amused. I was
having a fine time.”
30“Well, let’s try and have a fine time.”
“All right. I was trying. I said the mountains looked like white
elephants. Wasn’t that bright?”
“That was bright.”
“I wanted to try this new drink. That’s all we do, isn’t it—look
at things and try new drinks?”
“I guess so.”
35The girl looked across at the hills.
“They’re lovely hills,” she said. “They don’t really look like
white elephants. I just meant the coloring of their skin through
the trees.”
“Should we have another drink?”
“All right.”
The warm wind blew the bead curtain against the table.
40“The beer’s nice and cool,” the man said.
“It’s lovely,” the girl said.
“It’s really an awfully simple operation, Jig,” the man said.
“It’s not really an operation at all.”

The girl looked at the ground the table legs rested on.
“I know you wouldn’t mind it, Jig. It’s really not anything. It’s
just to let the air in.”
45The girl did not say anything.
“I’ll go with you and I’ll stay with you all the time. They just
let the air in and then it’s all perfectly natural.”
“Then what will we do afterward?”
“We’ll be fine afterward. Just like we were before.”
“What makes you think so?”
50“That’s the only thing that bothers us. It’s the only thing
that’s made us unhappy.”
The girl looked at the bead curtain, put her hand out and took
hold of two of the strings of beads.
“And you think then we’ll be all right and be happy.”
“I know we will. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve known lots
of people that have done it.”
“So have I,” said the girl. “And afterward they were all so
happy.”
55“Well,” the man said, “if you don’t want to you don’t have to.
I wouldn’t have you do it if you didn’t want to. But I know it’s
perfectly simple.”
“And you really want to?”
“I think it’s the best thing to do. But I don’t want you to do it if
you don’t really want to.”
“And if I do it you’ll be happy and things will be like they were
and you’ll love me?”
“I love you now. You know I love you.”
60“I know. But if I do it, then it will be nice again if I say
things are like white elephants, and you’ll like it?”
“I’ll love it. I love it now but I just can’t think about it. You
know how I get when I worry.”
“If I do it you won’t ever worry?”
“I won’t worry about that because it’s perfectly simple.”
“Then I’ll do it. Because I don’t care about me.”
65“What do you mean?”
“I don’t care about me.”

“Well, I care about you.”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t care about me. And I’ll do it and then
everything will be fine.”
“I don’t want you to do it if you feel that way.”
70The girl stood up and walked to the end of the station.
Across, on the other side, were fields of grain and trees along
the banks of the Ebro. Far away, beyond the river, were
mountains. The shadow of a cloud moved across the field of
grain and she saw the river through the trees.
“And we could have all this,” she said. “And we could have
everything and every day we make it more impossible.”
“What did you say?”
“I said we could have everything.”
“We can have everything.”
75“No, we can’t.”
“We can have the whole world.”
“No, we can’t.”
“We can go everywhere.”
“No, we can’t. It isn’t ours any more.”
80“It’s ours.”
“No, it isn’t. And once they take it away, you never get it
back.”
“But they haven’t taken it away.”
“We’ll wait and see.”
“Come on back in the shade,” he said. “You mustn’t feel that
way.”
85“I don’t feel any way,” the girl said. “I just know things.”
“I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do—”
“Nor that isn’t good for me,” she said. “I know. Could we have
another beer?”
“All right. But you’ve got to realize—”
“I realize,” the girl said. “Can’t we maybe stop talking?”
90They sat down at the table and the girl looked across at the
hills on the dry side of the valley and the man looked at her and
at the table.
“You’ve got to realize,” he said, “that I don’t want you to do it

if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly willing to go through with it
if it means anything to you.”
“Doesn’t it mean anything to you? We could get along.”
“Of course it does. But I don’t want anybody but you. I don’t
want anyone else. And I know it’s perfectly simple.”
“Yes, you know it’s perfectly simple.”
95“It’s all right for you to say that, but I do know it.”
“Would you do something for me now?”
“I’d do anything for you.”
“Would you please please please please please please please
stop talking?”
He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall
of the station. There were labels on them from all the hotels
where they had spent nights.
100“But I don’t want you to,” he said. “I don’t care anything
about it.”
“I’ll scream,” the girl said.
The woman came out through the curtains with two glasses of
beer and put them down on the damp felt pads. “The train comes
in five minutes,” she said.
“What did she say?” asked the girl.
“That the train is coming in five minutes.”
105The girl smiled brightly at the woman, to thank her.
“I’d better take the bags over to the other side of the station,”
the man said. She smiled at him.
“All right. Then come back and we’ll finish the beer.”
He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the
station to the other tracks. He looked up the tracks but could not
see the train. Coming back, he walked through the barroom,
where people waiting for the train were drinking. He drank an
Anis at the bar and looked at the people. They were all waiting
reasonably for the train. He went out through the bead curtain.
She was sitting at the table and smiled at him.
“Do you feel better?” he asked.
110“I feel fine,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I
feel fine.”

Alice Walker
Read the Biography
Everyday Use [1973]
for your grandmama
I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean
and wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is more
comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is
like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean
as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny,
irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the
elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the
house.
Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand
hopelessly in corners, homely and ashamed of the burn scars
down her arms and legs, eyeing her sister with a mixture of
envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the
palm of one hand, that “no” is a word the world never learned to
say to her.
You’ve no doubt seen those TV shows where the child who has
“made it” is confronted, as a surprise, by her own mother and
father, tottering in weakly from backstage. (A pleasant surprise,
of course: What would they do if parent and child came on the
show only to curse out and insult each other?) On TV mother
and child embrace and smile into each other’s faces. Sometimes
the mother and father weep, the child wraps them in her arms
and leans across the table to tell how she would not have made
it without their help. I have seen these programs.
Sometimes I dream a dream in which Dee and I are suddenly
brought together on a TV program of this sort. Out of a dark
and soft-seated limousine I am ushered into a bright room filled
with many people. There I meet a smiling, gray, sporty man like
Johnny Carson who shakes my hand and tells me what a fine
girl I have. Then we are on the stage and Dee is embracing me
with tears in her eyes. She pins on my dress a large orchid, even
though she has told me once that she thinks orchids are tacky
flowers.

5In real life I am a large, big-boned woman with rough, man-
working hands. In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to bed
and overalls during the day. I can kill and clean a hog as
mercilessly as a man. My fat keeps me hot in zero weather. I
can work outside all day, breaking ice to get water for washing;
I can eat pork liver cooked over the open fire minutes after it
comes steaming from the hog. One winter I knocked a bull calf
straight in the brain between the eyes with a sledge hammer and
had the meat hung up to chill before nightfall. But of course all
this does not show on television. I am the way my daughter
would want me to be: a hundred pounds lighter, my skin like an
uncooked barley pancake. My hair glistens in the hot bright
lights. Johnny Carson has much to do to keep up with my quick
and witty tongue.
But that is a mistake. I know even before I wake up. Who ever
knew a Johnson with a quick tongue? Who can even imagine me
looking a strange white man in the eye? It seems to me I have
talked to them always with one foot raised in flight, with my
head turned in whichever way is farthest from them. Dee,
though. She would always look anyone in the eye. Hesitation
was no part of her nature.
“How do I look, Mama?” Maggie says, showing just enough of
her thin body enveloped in pink skirt and red blouse for me to
know she’s there, almost hidden by the door.
“Come out into the yard,” I say.
Have you ever seen a lame animal, perhaps a dog run over by
some careless person rich enough to own a car, sidle up to
someone who is ignorant enough to be kind to him? That is the
way my Maggie walks. She has been like this, chin on chest,
eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since the fire that burned
the other house to the ground.
10Dee is lighter than Maggie, with nicer hair and a fuller figure.
She’s a woman now, though sometimes I forget. How long ago
was it that the other house burned? Ten, twelve years?
Sometimes I can still hear the flames and feel Maggie’s arms
sticking to me, her hair smoking and her dress falling off her in

little black papery flakes. Her eyes seemed stretched open,
blazed open by the flames reflected in them. And Dee. I see her
standing off under the sweet gum tree she used to dig gum out
of; a look of concentration on her face as she watched the last
dingy gray board of the house fall in toward the red-hot brick
chimney. Why don’t you do a dance around the ashes? I’d
wanted to ask her. She had hated the house that much.
I used to think she hated Maggie, too. But that was before we
raised the money, the church and me, to send her to Augusta to
school. She used to read to us without pity; forcing words, lies,
other folks’ habits, whole lives upon us two, sitting trapped and
ignorant underneath her voice. She washed us in a river of
make-believe, burned us with a lot of knowledge we didn’t
necessarily need to know. Pressed us to her with the serious
way she read, to shove us away at just the moment, like
dimwits, we seemed about to understand.
Dee wanted nice things. A yellow organdy dress to wear to her
graduation from high school; black pumps to match a green suit
she’d made from an old suit somebody gave me. She was
determined to stare down any disaster in her efforts. Her eyelids
would not flicker for minutes at a time. Often I fought off the
temptation to shake her. At sixteen she had a style of her own:
and knew what style was.
I never had an education myself. After second grade the school
was closed down. Don’t ask me why: in 1927 colored asked
fewer questions than they do now. Sometimes Maggie reads to
me. She stumbles along good-naturedly but can’t see well. She
knows she is not bright. Like good looks and money, quickness
passed her by. She will marry John Thomas (who has mossy
teeth in an earnest face) and then I’ll be free to sit here and I
guess just sing church songs to myself. Although I never was a
good singer. Never could carry a tune. I was always better at a
man’s job. I used to love to milk till I was hooked in the side in
'49. Cows are soothing and slow and don’t bother you, unless
you try to milk them the wrong way.
I have deliberately turned my back on the house. It is three

rooms, just like the one that burned, except the roof is tin; they
don’t make shingle roofs any more. There are no real windows,
just some holes cut in the sides, like the portholes in a ship, but
not round and not square, with rawhide holding the shutters up
on the outside. This house is in a pasture, too, like the other
one. No doubt when Dee sees it she will want to tear it down.
She wrote me once that no matter where we “choose” to live,
she will manage to come see us. But she will never bring her
friends. Maggie and I thought about this and Maggie asked me,
“Mama, when did Dee ever have any friends?”
15She had a few. Furtive boys in pink shirts hanging about on
washday after school. Nervous girls who never laughed.
Impressed with her they worshiped the well-turned phrase, the
cute shape, the scalding humor that erupted like bubbles in lye.
She read to them.
When she was courting Jimmy T she didn’t have much time to
pay to us, but turned all her fault finding power on him.
He flew to marry a cheap city girl from a family of ignorant
flashy people. She hardly had time to recompose herself.
When she comes I will meet—but there they are!
Maggie attempts to make a dash for the house; in her shuffling
way, but I stay her with my hand. “Come back here,” I say. And
she stops and tries to dig a well in the sand with her toe.
It is hard to see them clearly through the strong sun. But even
the first glimpse of leg out of the car tells me it is Dee. Her feet
were always neat-looking, as if God himself had shaped them
with a certain style. From the other side of the car comes a
short, stocky man. Hair is all over his head a foot long and
hanging from his chin like a kinky mule tail. I hear Maggie suck
in her breath. “Uhnnnh,” is what it sounds like. Like when you
see the wriggling end of a snake just in front of your foot on the
road. “Uhnnnh.”
20Dee next. A dress down to the ground, in this hot weather. A
dress so loud it hurts my eyes. There are yellows and oranges
enough to throw back the light of the sun. I feel my whole face
warming from the heat waves it throws out. Earrings gold, too,

and hanging down to her shoulders. Bracelets dangling and
making noises when she moves her arm up to shake the folds of
the dress out of her armpits. The dress is loose and flows, and
as she walks closer, I like it. I hear Maggie go “Uhnnnh” again.
It is her sister’s hair. It stands straight up like the wool on a
sheep. It is black as night and around the edges are two long
pigtails that rope about like small lizards disappearing behind
her ears.
“Wa-su-zo-Tean-o!” she says, coming on in that gilding way the
dress makes her move. The short stocky fellow with the hair to
his navel is all grinning and he follows up with “Asalamalakim,
my mother and sister!” He moves to hug Maggie but she falls
back, right up against the back of my chair. I feel her trembling
there and when I look up I see the perspiration falling off her
chin.
“Don’t get up,” says Dee. Since I am stout it takes something of
a push. You can see me trying to move a second or two before I
make it. She turns, showing white heels through her sandals,
and goes back to the car. Out she peeks next with a Polaroid.
She stoops down quickly and lines up picture after picture of me
sitting there in front of the house with Maggie cowering behind
me. She never takes a shot without making sure the house is
included. When a cow comes nibbling around the edge of the
yard she snaps it and me and Maggie and the house. Then she
puts the Polaroid in the back seat of the car, and comes up and
kisses me on the forehead.
Meanwhile Asalamalakim is going through motions with
Maggie’s hand. Maggie’s hand is as limp as a fish, and probably
as cold, despite the sweat, and she keeps trying to pull it back.
It looks like Asalamalakim wants to shake hands but wants to
do it fancy. Or maybe he don’t know how people shake hands.
Anyhow, he soon gives up on Maggie.
“Well,” I say. “Dee.”
25“No, Mama,” she says. “Not ‘Dee,’ Wangero Leewanika
Kemanjo!”
“What happened to ‘Dee’?” I wanted to know.

“She’s dead,” Wangero said. “I couldn’t bear it any longer,
being named after the people who oppress me.”
“You know as well as me you was named after your aunt Dicie,”
I said. Dicie is my sister. She named Dee. We called her “Big
Dee” after Dee was born.
“But who was she named after?” asked Wangero.
30“I guess after Grandma Dee,” I said.
“And who was she named after?” asked Wangero.
“Her mother,” I said, and saw Wangero was getting tired.
“That’s about as far back as I can trace it,” I said. Though, in
fact, I probably could have carried it back beyond the Civil War
through the branches.
“Well,” said Asalamalakim, “there you are.”
“Uhnnnh,” I heard Maggie say.
35“There I was not,” I said, “before ‘Dicie’ cropped up in our
family, so why should I try to trace it that far back?”
He just stood there grinning, looking down on me like
somebody inspecting a Model A car. Every once in a while he
and Wangero sent eye signals over my head.
“How do you pronounce this name?” I asked.
“You don’t have to call me by it if you don’t want to,” said
Wangero.
“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked. “If that’s what you want us to call
you, we’ll call you.”
40“I know it might sound awkward at first,” said Wangero.
“I’ll get used to it,” I said. “Ream it out again.”
Well, soon we got the name out of the way. Asalamalakim had a
name twice as long and three times as hard. After I tripped over
it two or three times he told me to just call him Hakim-a-barber.
I wanted to ask him was he a barber, but I didn’t really think he
was, so I didn’t ask.
“You must belong to those beef-cattle peoples down the road,” I
said. They said “Asalamalakim” when they met you, too, but
they didn’t shake hands. Always too busy: feeding the cattle,
fixing the fences, putting up salt-lick shelters, throwing down
hay. When the white folks poisoned some of the herd the men

stayed up all night with rifles in their hands. I walked a mile
and a half just to see the sight.
Hakim-a-barber said, “I accept some of their doctrines, but
farming and raising cattle is not my style.” (They didn’t tell me,
and I didn’t ask, whether Wangero (Dee) had really gone and
married him.)
45We sat down to eat and right away he said he didn’t eat
collards and pork was unclean. Wangero, though, went on
through the chitlins and corn bread, the greens and everything
else. She talked a blue streak over the sweet potatoes.
Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still used the
benches her daddy made for the table when we couldn’t afford
to buy chairs.
“Oh, Mama!” she cried. Then turned to Hakim-a-barber. “I
never knew how lovely these benches are. You can feel the
rump prints,” she said, running her hands underneath her and
along the bench. Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over
Grandma Dee’s butter dish. “That’s it!” she said. “I knew there
was something I wanted to ask you if I could have.” She jumped
up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn
stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn
and looked at it.
“This churn top is what I need,” she said. “Didn’t Uncle Buddy
whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?”
“Yes,” I said.
50“Uh huh,” she said happily. “And I want the dasher, too.”
“Uncle Buddy whittle that, too?” asked the barber.
Dee (Wangero) looked up at me.
“Aunt Dee’s first husband whittled the dash,” said Maggie so
low you almost couldn’t hear her. “His name was Henry, but
they called him Stash.”
“Maggie’s brain is like an elephant’s,” Wangero said, laughing.
“I can use the churn top as a centerpiece for the alcove table,”
she said, sliding a plate over the churn, “and I’ll think of
something artistic to do with the dasher.”
55When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out.

I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn’t even have to
look close to see where hands pushing the dasher up and down
to make butter had left a kind of sink in the wood. In fact, there
were a lot of small sinks; you could see where thumbs and
fingers had sunk into the wood. It was beautiful light yellow
wood, from a tree that grew in the yard where Big Dee and
Stash had lived.
After dinner Dee (Wangero) went to the trunk at the foot of my
bed and started rifling through it. Maggie hung back in the
kitchen over the dishpan. Out came Wangero with two quilts.
They had been pieced by Grandma Dee and then Big Dee and
me had hung them on the quilt frames on the front porch and
quilted them. One was in the Lone Star pattern. The other was
Walk Around the Mountain. In both of them were scraps of
dresses Grandma Dee had worn fifty and more years ago. Bits
and pieces of Grandpa Jarrell’s Paisley shirts. And one teeny
faded blue piece, about the size of a penny matchbox, that was
from Great Grandpa Ezra’s uniform that he wore in the Civil
War.
“Mama,” Wangero said sweet as a bird. “Can I have these old
quilts?”
I heard something fall in the kitchen, and a minute later the
kitchen door slammed.
“Why don’t you take one or two of the others?” I asked. “These
old things was just done by me and Big Dee from some tops
your grandma pieced before she died.”
60“No,” said Wangero. “I don’t want those. They are stitched
around the borders by machine.”
“That’ll make them last better,” I said.
“That’s not the point,” said Wangero. “These are all pieces of
dresses Grandma used to wear. She did all this stitching by
hand. Imagine!” She held the quilts securely in her arms,
stroking them.
“Some of the pieces, like those lavender ones, come from old
clothes her mother handed down to her,” I said, moving up to
touch the quilts. Dee (Wangero) moved back just enough so that

I couldn’t reach the quilts. They already belonged to her.
“Imagine!” she breathed again, clutching them closely to her
bosom.
65“The truth is,” I said, “I promised to give them quilts to
Maggie, for when she marries John Thomas.”
She gasped like a bee had stung her.
“Maggie can’t appreciate these quilts!” she said. “She’d
probably be backward enough to put them to everyday use.”
“I reckon she would,” I said. “God knows I been saving’ em for
long enough with nobody using’ em. I hope she will!” I didn’t
want to bring up how I had offered Dee (Wangero) a quilt when
she went away to college. Then she had told me they were old-
fashioned, out of style.
“But they’re priceless!” she was saying now, furiously; for she
has a temper. “Maggie would put them on the bed and in five
years they’d be in rags. Less than that!”
70“She can always make some more,” I said. “Maggie knows
how to quilt.”
Dee (Wangero) looked at me with hatred. “You just will not
understand. The point is these quilts, these quilts!”
“Well,” I said, stumped. “What would you do with them?”
“Hang them,” she said. As if that was the only thing
you could do with quilts.
Maggie by now was standing in the door. I could almost hear
the sound her feet made as they scraped over each other.
75“She can have them, Mama,” she said, like somebody used to
never winning anything, or having anything reserved for her. “I
can’ member Grandma Dee without the quilts.”
I looked at her hard. She had filled her bottom lip with
checkerberry snuff and it gave her face a kind of dopey,
hangdog look. It was Grandma Dee and Big Dee who taught her
how to quilt herself. She stood there with her scarred hands
hidden in the folds of her skirt. She looked at her sister with
something like fear but she wasn’t mad at her. This was
Maggie’s portion. This was the way she knew God to work.
When I looked at her like that something hit me in the top of my

head and ran down to the soles of my feet. Just like when I’m in
church and the spirit of God touches me and I get happy and
shout. I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie
to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched the quilts
out of Miss Wangero’s hands and dumped them into Maggie’s
lap. Maggie just sat there on my bed with her mouth open.
“Take one or two of the others,” I said to Dee.
But she turned without a word and went out to Hakim-a-barber.
80“You just don’t understand,” she said, as Maggie and I came
out to the car.
“What don’t I understand?” I wanted to know.
“Your heritage,” she said. And then she turned to Maggie,
kissed her, and said, “You ought to try to make something of
yourself, too, Maggie. It’s really a new day for us. But from the
way you and Mama still live you’d never know it.”
She put on some sunglasses that hid everything above the tip of
her nose and her chin.
Maggie smiled; maybe at the sunglasses. But a real smile, not
scared. After we watched the car dust settle I asked Maggie to
bring me a dip of snuff. And then the two of us sat there just
enjoying, until it was time to go in the house and go to bed.
JOURNAL: Alice Walker, “Everyday Use”
Nikki Giovanni
Read the Biography
Mothers [1968]
the last time i was home
to see my mother we kissed
exchanged pleasantries
and unpleasantries pulled a warm
5comforting silence around
us and read separate books
i remember the first time
i consciously saw her
we were living in a three room
10apartment on burns avenue

mommy always sat in the dark
i don’t know how i knew that but she did
that night i stumbled into the kitchen
maybe because i’ve always been
15a night person or perhaps because i had wet the bed
she was sitting on a chair
the room was bathed in moonlight diffused through
those thousands of panes landlords who rented
to people with children were prone to put in windows
20she may have been smoking but maybe not
her hair was three-quarters her height
which made me a strong believer in the samson myth
and very black
i’m sure i just hung there by the door
25i remember thinking: what a beautiful lady
she was very deliberately waiting
perhaps for my father to come home
from his night job or maybe for a dream
that had promised to come by
30“come here” she said “i’ll teach you
a poem:
i see the moonthe moon sees megod bless the moonand god
bless me”
i taught it to my son
who recited it for her
just to say we must learn
35to bear the pleasures
as we have borne the pains
Seamus Heaney
Read the Biography
Mid-term Break [1966]
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o’clock our neighbours drove me home.
In the porch I met my father crying—
5He had always taken funerals in his stride—

And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.
The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand
10And tell me they were ‘sorry for my trouble’.
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand
In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o’clock the ambulance arrived
15With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.
Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,
Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
20He lay in the four-foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.
A four-foot box, a foot for every year.
JOURNAL: Seamus Heaney, “Mid-term Break”
Peter Meinke
Read the Biography
Advice to My Son [1981]
—FOR TIM
The trick is, to live your days
as if each one may be your last
(for they go fast, and young men lose their lives
in strange and unimaginable ways)
5but at the same time, plan long range
(for they go slow: if you survive
the shattered windshield and the bursting shell
you will arrive
at our approximation here below
10of heaven or hell).
To be specific, between the peony and the rose
plant squash and spinach, turnips and tomatoes;
beauty is nectar

and nectar, in a desert, saves—
15but the stomach craves stronger sustenance
than the honied vine.
Therefore, marry a pretty girl
after seeing her mother;
speak truth to one man,
20work with another;
and always serve bread with your wine.
But, son,
always serve wine.
JOURNAL: Peter Meinke, “Advice for My Son”
Adrienne Rich
Read the Biography
Delta [1989]
If you have taken this rubble for my past
raking through it for fragments you could sell
know that I long ago moved on
deeper into the heart of the matter
5If you think you can grasp me, think again:
my story flows in more than one direction
a delta springing from the riverbed
with its five fingers spread
JOURNAL: Adrienne Rich, “Delta”

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