In The Country Of The Story The

I Took My Coffee Into The Dining Room And Settled Down With The Morning Paper. A Woman In New York Had Had Twins In A Taxi. A Woman In Ohio Had Just Had Her Seventeenth Child. A Twelve-year-old Girl In Mexico Had Given Birth To A Thirteen-pound Boy. The Lead Article On The Woman's Page Was About How To Adjust The Older Child To The New Baby. I Finally Found An Account Of An Axe Murder On Page Seventeen, And Held My Coffee Cup Up To My Face To See If The Steam Might Revive Me.

We Eat The Year Away. We Eat The Spring And The Summer And The Fall. We Wait For Something To Grow And Then We Eat It.

I Was Pretending That I Did Not Speak Their Language; On The Moon We Spoke A Soft, Liquid Tongue, And Sang In The Starlight, Looking Down On The Dead Dried World.

In Ten Years I Will Be A Beautiful Charming Lovely Lady Writer Without Any Husband Or Children But Lots Of Lovers And Everyone Will Read The Books I Write And Want To Marry Me But I Will Never Marry Any Of Them. I Will Have Lots Of Money And Jewels Too.

So Long As You Write It Away Regularly Nothing Can Really Hurt You.