I Am Not Just What

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

I Write A Book Over A Period Of Months Or Years, And When I'm Done With It, Usually Another Year Goes By Before I See It In Print. It's Hard To Be Patient And Wait

Governments Will Rise, And Governments Will Fall, And Man Will Do Evil To Man, And All We Can Do Is Turn Our Hearts To Good.

Sometimes I Can Spend As Long Revising A Manuscript As I Spent Writing It In The First Place.