Oh Constance, We Are So

She Walked Quickly Around Her One-room Apartment. After More Than Four Years In This One Home She Knew All Its Possibilities, How It Could Put On A Sham Appearance Of Warmth And Welcome When She Needed A Place To Hide In, How It Stood Over Her In The Night When She Woke Suddenly, How It Could Relax Itself Into A Disagreeable Unmade, Badly-put-together State, Mornings Like This, Anxious To Drive Her Out And Go Back To Sleep.

I Have Often Thought That With Any Luck At All I Could Have Been Born A Werewolf, Because The Two Middle Fingers On Both My Hands Are The Same Length, But I Have Had To Be Content With What I Had.

I Never Was A Person Who Wanted A Handout. I Was A Cafeteria Worker. I'm Not Too Proud To Ask The Best Western Manager To Give Me A Job. I Have Cleaned Homes.

All I Could Think Of When I Got A Look At The Place From The Outside Was What Fun It Would Be To Stand Out There And Watch It Burn Down.

All Our Land Was Enriched With My Treasures Buried In It, Thickly Inhabited Just Below The Surface With My Marbles And My Teeth And My Colored Stones, All Perhaps Turned To Jewels By Now, Held Together Under The Ground In A Powerful Taut Web Which Never Loosened, But Held Fast To Guard Us.