But come here, Fear. / I am alive! / And you are so afraid / of dying.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

There is no separation. We are all from the same place. As long as there is respect and acknowledgement of connections, things continue working. When that stops we all die.

I listen to the gunfire we cannot hear, and begin this journey with the light of knowing the root of my own furious love.

The woman hanging from the 13th floor window on the east side of Chicago is not alone...She is all the women of the apartment building who stand watching her, watching themselves.

There is no poetry where there are no mistakes.

My sister accommodates me, never reproaches me with her doctrine, never tries to change me. She accepts and loves me, despite our differences.