...always- the sharp, plaintive edge on the rim of the spoon of my giving. (lines 8-13 of the poem 'Confessions')
And when I stand in the receiving line like Jackie Kennedy without the pillbox hat, if Jackie were fat and had taken enough Klonopin to still an ox, and you whisper I think of you every day, don't finish with because I've been going to Weight Watchers on Tuesdays and wonder if you want to go too.
Try to be thoughtful, don't make the poor man say it; see how human he is, he has children of his own, it is your job to ask: Is she dead? And he will nod and say yes And now he can never not nod. And now he can never say no. And now he can never not say yes.
