All New

When I was still a girl, I did this. When I get to you, you have such a stake in warmth and affection and you are drinking up your wine from a golden goblet. You have out the cracked mixing bowl and your steel spoon for you to mix with. The fire is the blue ring of light on your stove and your music is here. Flutes, I think, and entreaties from a gang of women. I suppose I am supposed to live or die without such a brilliant man as you.

First, I have to climb a hill—not a lucky omen. Then it is easy going until the storm bursts out. In the storm, I hear the shouting. The people swearing to God. Wet again! I am heading to somewhere else I cannot stay, having such a good time, not lost, and I like to take breaths. I have been doing this. I did not make this up.