I Watch His Hands, They're

We're Standing On The Deck That's All Wooden Like The Deck Of A Ship. There's Fuzz On It, Little Bundles. Grandma Says It's Some Kind Of Pollen From A Tree. "which One?" I'm Staring Up At All The Differents. "can't Help You There, I'm Afraid." In Room We Knowed What Everything Was Called But In The World There's So Much, Persons Don't Even Know The Names.

I Look Back One More Time. It's Like A Crater, A Hole Where Something Happened.

I Say "on Principle" [regarding 'lesbian Writer'] Because Whenever You Get One Of Your Minority Labels Applied, Like "irish Writer," "canadian Writer," "woman Writer," "lesbian Writer" - Any Of Those Categories - You Always Slightly Wince Because You're Afraid That People Will Think That Means You're Only Going To Write About Canada Or Ireland, You Know.

I Read Three Books A Week.

I Really Like To Keep My Palette Small But To Be Very Intense, Very Myopic.