Going Back To Something Is Harder Than

The Manager Once Called Me The 'best Freak' In His Stable, And, Sad As It Sounds, I Took Pride In That. When You Are An Outcast, Even A Tossed Stone Can Be Cherished.

My Mother Was French Protestant, And My Father Was Italian Catholic, And Their Union Was An Excess Of God, Guilt And Sauce.

Remember Me For These Days, Not The Old Ones.

But Then She Did. She Died. No More Visits, No More Phone Calls. And Without Even Realizing It, I Began To Drift, As If My Roots Had Been Pulled, As If I Were Floating Down Some Side Branch Of A River.

So Many Times I Feel I'm Using The Same Words Over And Over, Like A Woman Wearing The Same Dress Every Day. So Boring!