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| Domestic She Snaps I’m conflicted: posit it. Am I a doily, a piece of Scotch tape? And you’re an opera? (Only the good parts.) Déjà vu: a pucker in the windowpane, a cobweb that marries one petunia to another. Flag off. I wound up reading a book under a tree, smug. Ugh. She Endures a Silent Thursday Subtlety isn’t wasted--- It has not not been nice. The cycles of nature just floored me. Then where did you get to? There’s a big white thing in here. Heliotropes turn if you’re paying attention--- open that beguiling fist, O nakedness!--- which I wasn’t. And sliding all across a tundra I wonder I wonder She Searches for Something Beautiful and Significant So here we are drowning in self-pity. The world’s impersonal; why love what can’t love back? When we walk through the ivy, the coldness is so cold it feels cold. A philosophical point is being made. Please speak. Tell us what it means. She Makes A Curtsey Flourish or haplessness? The clarinet is a narrative instrument; it can’t get to me like the flute, your flute. By the time I found our meadowlike space I’d learned watercolors were a girly medium. I wasn’t pregnant. I wasn’t lactating much. I ran out of lime green and was running out of patience. Hon: couldn’t you just let me be the mother you need now? > TOP |