Sometimes There Is Such Beauty

We All Laced Together—a Brothel Madam, An English Professor, A Mute Cook, A Quadroon Cabbie, And Me, The Girl Carrying A Bucket Of Lies And Throwing Them Like Confetti.

He Threw His Burning Cigarette Onto Our Clean Living Room Floor And Ground It Into The Wood With His Boot. We Were About To Become Cigarettes.

One Day When I Was Fourteen, I Told Charlie That I Hated Mother. “don’t Hate Her, Jo,” He Told Me. “feel Sorry For Her. She’s Not Near As Smart As You. She Wasn’t Born With Your Compass, So She Wanders Around, Bumping Into All Sorts Of Walls. That’s Sad.” I Understood What He Meant, And It Made Me See Mother Differently. But Wasn’t There Some Sort Of Rule That Said Parents Had To Be Smarter Than Their Kids? It Didn’t Seem Fair.

Tragedy Was A Big Social Event, And Everyone Wanted In On It.

Sometimes Kindness Can Be Delivered In A Clumsy Way. But It's Far More Sincere In Its Clumsiness Than Those Distinguished Men You Read About In Books. Your Father Was Very Clumsy.