Eating Was Hard. Breathing Was Hard. Living

This Girl Shivers And Crawls Under The Covers With All Her Clothes On And Falls Into An Overdue Library Book, A Faerie Story With Rats And Marrow And Burning Curses. The Sentences Build A Fence Around Her, A Times Roman 10-point Barricade, To Keep The Thorny Voices In Her Head From Getting Too Close.

I Swallowed The Fear. It’s Always There– Fear– And If You Don’t Stay On Top Of It, You’ll Drown. I Swallowed Again And Stood Tall, Shoulders Broad, Arms Loose. I Was Balanced, Ready To Move. My Body Said, “yeah, You’re Bigger And Stronger, But If You Touch This, I Will Hurt You.

It Was Like Looking At A Knot, Knowing It Was A Knot, But Not Knowing How To Untie It. I Had No Map For This Life.

There Is Something About Christmas That Requires A Rug Rat. Little Kids Make Christmas Fun. I Wonder If Could Rent One For The Holidays. When I Was Tiny We Would By A Real Tree And Stay Up Late Drinking Hot Chocolate And Finding Just The Right Place For The Special Decorations. It Seems Like My Parents Gave Up The Magic When I Figured Out The Santa Lie. Maybe I Shouldn't Have Told Them I Knew Where The Presents Really Came From. It Broke Their Hearts.

I See A Girl Caught In The Remains Of A Holiday Gone Bad, With Her Flesh Picked Off Day After Day As The Carcass Dries Out. The Knife And Fork Are Abviously Middle-class Sensibilities. The Palm Tree Is A Nice Touch. A Broken Dream,perhaps? Plastic Honeymoon, Deserted Island? Oh, If You Put In A Slice Of Pumpkin Pie, It Could Be A Desserted Island! (pg 64)