People Write To Me All

Mama Used To Tell Us A Story About A Cicada Sitting High In A Tree. It Chirps And Drinks In Dew, Oblivious To The Praying Mantis Behind It. The Mantis Arches Up Its Front Leg To Stab The Cicada, But It Doesn't Know An Oriole Perches Behind It. The Bird Stretches Out Its Neck To Snap Up The Mantis For A Midday Meal, But Its Unaware Of The Boy Who's Come Into The Garden With A Net. Three Creatures—the Cicada, The Mantis And The Oriole—all Coveted Gains Without Being Aware Of The Greater And Inescapable Danger That Was Coming.

When The Sun Is Shining, Think Of The Time It Won't Be, Because Even When You're Sitting In Your House With The Doors Shut, Misfortune Can Fall From Above. Page 279

He Was In My Hair, My Eyes, My Fingers, My Heart. I Day-dreamed About What He Was Doing, Thinking, Seeing, Smelling, Feeling. I Could Not Eat For Thoughts Of Him.

Don't Ever Feel That You Have To Hide Who You Are. Nothing Good Ever Comes From Keeping Secrets Like That.

If It Is Perfectly Acceptable For A Widow To Disfigure Herself Or Commit Suicide To Save Face For Her Husband's Family, Why Should A Mother Not Be Moved To Extreme Action By The Loss Of A Child Or Children? We Are Their Caretakers. We Love Them. We Nurse Them When They Are Sick. . . But No Woman Should Live Longer Than Her Children. It Is Against The Law Of Nature. If She Does, Why Wouldn't She Wish To Leap From A Cliff, Hang From A Branch, Or Swallow Lye?