I Sleep With A Glass

I Sleep With A Glass Of Water On The Nightstand So I Can See By Its Level If The Coastal Earth Is Trembling Or If The Shaking Is Still Me.

I Think Of The Chimp, The One With The Talking Hands. In The Course Of The Experiment, That Chimp Had A Baby. Imagine How Her Trainers Must Have Thrilled When The Mother, Without Prompting, Began To Sign Her Newborn. Baby, Drink Milk. Baby, Play Ball. And When The Baby Died, The Mother Stood Over The Body, Her Wrinkled Hands Moving With Animal Grace, Forming Again And Again The Words: Baby, Come Hug, Baby Come Hug, Fluent Now In The Language Of Grief.

He Could Not Wait To Get Rid Of Them So He Could Enjoy Remembering Them.

A Love Affair Begins With A Fantasy. For Instance, That The Beloved Will Always Be There.

All Those Years On The Psychiatrist's Couch And Suddenly The Couch Is Moving. Good God, She Is On That Couch When The Big One Hits. Maidy Didn't Tell You, But You Know What Her Doctor Said? She Sprang From The Couch And Said, "my God, Was That An Earthquake?" The Doctor Said This: "did It Feel Like An Earthquake To You?