It Was The Oldest Sound There Was.

What Has Happened To Our Ability To Dwell In The Unknowing, To Live Inside A Question And Coexist With The Tensions Of Uncertainty? Where Is Our Willingness To Incubate Pain And Let It Birth Something New? What Has Happened To Patient Unfolding, To Endurance? These Things Are What Form The Ground Of Waiting.

I Wanted To Know What Happened When Two People Felt It. Would It Divide The Hurt In Two, Make It Lighter To Bear, The Way Feeling Someone's Joy Seemed To Double It?

This Is The Autumn Of Wonders, Yet Every Day, Every Single Day, I Go Back To That Burned Afternoon In August When T. Ray Left. I Go Back To That One Moment When I Stood In The Driveway With Small Rocks And Clumps Of Dirt Around My Feet And Looked Back At The Porch. And There They Were. All These Mothers. I Have More Mothers Than Any Eight Girls Off The Street. They Are The Moons Shining Over Me.

I Missed Rosaleen's Snoring The Way You'd Miss The Sound Of The Ocean Waves After You've Gotten Used To Sleeping With Them. I Didn't Realize How It Had Comforted Me. Quiteness Has A Strange, Spongy Hum That Can Nearly Break Your Eardrums.

I Think There Must Be A Place Inside Of Us Where Dreams Go And Wait Their Turn.