A reminder, now, in this the beginning of night,

your time of power,

that should another old woman call you useless,

as you scan the merchandise,

or some twelve-year-old with cracking voice

shout unkindnessnesses

as you pass on your bike

it will mean nothing —

for still, in nights like these,

you may sit, as you do now,

gently licking brownie batter off of a spoon

as jasmine blooms outside

and the day waits to hatch

from the warm and thoughtful

night. Will an unkind word

steal the scent of jasmine? Will it

dull the taste of chocolate? Will it

kill you? No?

Then go on, my love:

go on. There are yet fruits

untasted.

(To the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” though at a more somber gait)

There are no gods for those like me

and so I pray for you

For you, my love, may you be loved

And love in equal due

May you make good

may you make well

and so find living love

May you make good

may you make well

and so raise us above

and last of all may you give thanks

for all that we’ve been given

For there is little time to weep

in this the life we’re livin’

There are no gods for those like me

and so I pray for you

May you know love

may you make well

and know the good well true

The fearful listen
Without hearing
Look without seeing
Live without
Loving
The fearful woman
Is a cup
Without the hollow space
Where the world flows in
And God knows
the dam
Isn’t built for the river

Funny how

Trivialities tire us most

I could deal with a crisis easily

Would prefer it, even, in small doses

(Crises are one of the things I

Excel at, you know)

But instead I am here, standing behind a counter

And ringing up item after item after

Do you have a store credit card, Miss?

Would you like one?

What a lovely

I could be writing, you know, I could be

And why am I miserable? Is it because

It means nothing? Because I am in a small town

and my friends have all moved away

and there is no one to hug, now, no one to

Kiss

Is that it? Or is it because I’m spoiled, because I think I’m

Better than the work, better than

The women who come in and out more often

Because they can afford to?

Is it because four fifths of the money will go to my mother,

For college?

What is this for? Does its purpose go beyond

Humiliation? I wonder if Snow White

Thought so, a princess cleaning the dwarves’ house

If she ever invited the witch in out of

Desperation — finally, someone else, something to do!

I can’t stay in this house forever.

But tomorrow, all the same, I will go to work,

And not be writing,

And not be loving,

or even learning.

But I have an order to complete, don’t I?

F3, SUSPEND LIFE.

CONTINUE TRANSACTION

AT A LATER DATE.