I Find It Easy To

I Did Not Always Know I Would Be A Writer. Until I Had A Room Of My Own, I Did Not Write Much At All - No More Than Any Other Child Who Read A Lot Of Books. I Began To Write Fiction And Poetry When I First Had A Room That Was Truly My Own With A Door That Shut And Some Measure, However Fragile, Of Privacy.

Where I Came From, The Nights I Had Wandered And Survived Scared Them, And Where I Would Go They Never Imagined.

Purple As Tulips In May, Mauve Into Lush Velvet, Purple As The Stain Blackberries Leave On The Lips, On The Hands, The Purple Of Ripe Grapes Sunlit And Warm As Flesh.

We Lie In Each Other's Arms Eyes Shut And Fingers Open And All The Colors Of The World Pass Through Our Bodies Like Strings Of Fire.

Our Wedding Plans Please Everybody As If We Were Fertilizing The Earth And Creating Social Luck.