There's Hope Around The Corner.

I Started Trying To Write When I Was In Second Or Third Grade.

That Porch Is A Happy-looking Place, And My Father - Burdened, Stoop-shouldered, Cadaverously Thin - Doesn't Seem To Belong On It.

I Wish, Peevishly, That He Didn't Know Anything About How Soldiers Sleep, How They Protect Their Fellow Soldiers. It Would Be Nicer If I Could Share The Cloaks Warmth With Him, If We Could Lie With Our Faces Together, Whispering Into The Night.

Jen, We Did It. Everyone's Free Now.

I Like The Fact That Kids Are Willing To Be Imaginative And Go Along With Me When I'm Telling Strange Tales.