Piece By Piece, My Mother Is Being

Writing Is The Only Way I Know To Demand Justice From An Uncaring Universe.

Twenty Years After We Had Left So Fierce And Proud, We Were All Right Back Where We Had Started, Yoked To Each Other And The Same Old Drama.

The Bottom Line Is I'm Writing To Save The Dead. I'm Writing To Save The People I Have Lost, Some Of Whose Bodies Are Still Walking Around.

For Years And Years, I Convinced Myself That I Was Unbreakable, An Animal With An Animal Strength Or Something Not Human At All. Me, I Told People, I Take Damage Like A Wall, A Brick Wall That Never Falls Down, Never Feels Anything, Never Flinches Or Remembers. I Am One Woman But I Carry In My Body All The Stories I Have Ever Been Told, Women I Have Known, Women Who Have Taken Damage Until They Tell Themselves They Can Feel No Pain At All.

Gravy Is The Simplest, Tastiest, Most Memory-laden Dish I Know How To Make: A Little Flour, Salt And Pepper, Crispy Bits Of Whatever Meat Anchored The Meal, A Couple Of Cups Of Water Or Milk And Slow Stirring To Break Up Lumps.