Some women marry houses. It's another kind of skin; it has a heart, a mouth, a liver and bowel movements.

One of my secret instructions to myself as a poet is "Whatever you do, don't be boring."

Today God gives milk / and I have the pail.

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Put your mouthful of words away and come with me to watch the lilies open in such a field, growing there like yachts, slowly steering their petals without nurses or clocks.

Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself, Counting this row and that row of moccasins Waiting on the silent shelf.

I think I've been writing black poems all along, wearing my white mask. I'm always the victim ... but no longer!