A long time ago, Anne used to talk about energy - how that was all that love was - ions connecting across synapses of time and air. Don't rationalize, she'd say. None of it will ever make sense. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, not wanting to cry. Anne was right. None of it made any sense.

Don't trust women, my mother said to me. Even the ugly ones will take what you thought was yours.

If I loved someone enough, I would go anywhere in the world with them." —Staggerlee

I believe in one day and someday and this perfect moment called Now.

That's what writing is. It's moving past your fear.

Mama says it's okay to be on the quiet side—if quiet means you're listening, watching, taking it all in.

As a poet who has the tools for interpreting the poem differently, you can begin to deconstruct it. But the human being who's like, "I know about conversation, I know about language, I know about hard times," will approach the poem differently.