being sixteen in the pants I died full of questions

Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.

The future is a fog that is still hanging out over the sea, a boat that floats home or does not. The trade winds blow me, and I do not know where the land is; the waves fold over each other; they are in love with themselves; sleeping in their own skin; and I float over them and I do not know about tomorrow.

They [daisies] are my favorite flower. There is something innocent and vulnerable about them as if they thanked you for admiring them.

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.

Now I am just an elderly lady who is full of spleen, who humps around greater Boston in a God-awful hat, who never lived and yet outlived her time, hating men and dogs and Democrats.