At Least The Girls In Stories Were

Any Alphabet Book For Children Where 'p Is For Patti' Smith And 'x Is For The Women Whose Names We Don't Know' Is Something I Can Recommend, Especially When The Book Is As Well Written, Representationa Lly Diverse And Vividly Illustrated As This One.

My Mother Says That Pain Is Hidden In Everyone You See. She Says Try To Imagine It Like Big Bunches Of Flowers That Everyone Is Carrying Around With Them. Think Of Your Pain Like A Big Bunch Of Red Roses, A Beautiful Thorn Necklace. Everyone Has One.

You Are In My Blood. I Cant Help It. We Can't Be Anywhere Except Together

I Pounded Through The Houses, Staggering Down The Hallways, Falling Down The Steps. It Was A Hot Streaky Dawn Full Of Insecticides, Exhaust, Flowers That Could Make You Sick Or Fall In Love. My Battered Impala Was Still Parked There On The Side Of The Road And I Wanted To Lie Down On The Shredded Seats And Sleep And Sleep. But I Thought Of The Bones; I Could Hear Them Singing. They Needed Me To Write Their Song.

I Dreamed You Were Standing In This Dark Place And You Touched These Dead Flowers And They Lit Up Like They Were Electric Or Something. Electric Lilies. Lighting Up The Valley.