There Is Nothing As Tentative

I Think You Know Everything At Eight. But Is Is Hidden From You, Sealed Up, In A Way You Have To Cut Yourself Open To Find.

There Are So Few People Given Us To Love. I Want To Tell My Daughters This, That Each Time You Fall In Love It Is Important, Even At Nineteen. Especially At Nineteen. And If You Can, At Nineteen, Count The People You Love On One Hand, You Will Not, At Forty, Have Run Out Of Fingers On The Other. There Are So Few People Given Us To Love And They All Stick.

I Write Anywhere - When I Have An Idea It’s Hard Not To Write. I Used To Be Kind Of Precious About Where I Wrote. Everything Had To Be Quiet And I Couldn’t Be Disturbed, It Really Filled My Day.

Here We Go Again. Always A Few Drinks, But Sometimes Even Sober, We Play The Unhappiness Game; Endlessly Round And Round. Ding Dong. Tighter And Tighter. On And On. Push Me Pull You. Come Here And I'll Tell You How Much I Hate You. Hang On A Minute While I Leave You. All The While We Know We Are Missing The Point, Whatever The Point Used To Be.

We Have Lost The Art Of Public Tenderness, These Small Gestures Of Wiping And Washing; We Have Forgotten How Abjectly The Body Welcomes A Formal Touch.