Poetry Is On Earth To Make You

I Wonder If There Was Anything I Would Have Done Differently. I Hope I Would Have Done Everything Differently, Except I Know Everything Would Have Turned Out The Same. That's The Meaning Of Fate.

Our Words Had To Be Circumspect. We Could Not Write Anything Too Negative About Our Circumstances. This Was Tricky, Since The Very Form Of A Married Woman's Letter Needed To Include The Usual Complaints -- That We Were Pathetic, Powerless, Worked To The Bone, Homesick, And Sad. We Were Supposed To Speak Directly About Our Feelings Without Appearing Ungrateful, No-account, Or Unfilial.

May And I Are Sisters. We'll Always Fight, But We'll Always Make Up As Well. That's What Sisters Do: We Argue, We Point Out Each Other's Frailties, Mistakes, And Bad Judgment, We Flash The Insecurities We've Had Since Childhood, And Then We Come Back Together. Until The Next Time.

I Think All Women Have A Friend Who At Some Point Dumped Them Or Betrayed Them Or Deeply Disappointed Them. And At The Same Time All Women Have A Friend Who They Dumped Or Betrayed Or Hurt In Some Way. That's Universal In Women's Friendships.

All These Types Of Love Come Out Of Duty, Respect, And Gratitude. Most Of Them, As The Women In My County Know, Are Sources Of Sadness, Rupture, And Brutality.