From the Voices, February 2011
Your mother's hushing voice was never there.
Neither was the boy, blowing air at your face.
You are a fistful of Kansas violence now. You've
got the good girl's fate. But don't let that stop you—
keep sewing every Friday you make it to to the
last one. Let the bathtub swallow you whole
again. Remember that the world began in a
manic episode, too. God likes to hoard sharp
things, just like you. We are saving you.
And we need to hear it one more time:
Who knows best?