I Don't Think I Look Like The

Such A Small, Pure Object A Poem Could Be, Made Of Nothing But Air A Tiny String Of Letters, Maybe Small Enough To Fit In The Palm Of Your Hand. But It Could Blow Everybody's Head Off.

The Lesson You've Got To Learn Is The Someday You'll Someday Stagger To, Blinking In Cold Light, All Tears Shed, Ready To Poke Your Bovine Head In The Yoke They've Shaped. Everyone Learns This. Born, Everyone Breathes, Pays Tax, Plants Dead And Hurts Galore. There's Grief Enough For Each. My Mother Learned By Moving Man To Man, Outlived Them All. The Parched Earth's Bare (once She Leaves It) Of Any Who Watched The Instants I Trod It. Other Than Myself, Of Course. I've Made A Study Of Bearing And Forbearance. Everyone Does, It Turns Out, And Note Those Faces Passing By: Not One's A God.

Nobody Sounds Good Writing About Your Divorce, Let's Face It.

A Dysfunctional Family Is Any Family With More Than One Person In It.

Your Heart, Mary Karr, He'd Say. His Pen Touched My Sternum, And It Felt For All The World Like The Point Of A Dull Spear As He Said, Your Heart Knows What Your Head Don't. Or Won't.