Whatever is not an energy source, is an energy sink.

I wrote to make sense out of all the contradictions I experienced and to deal with the pain and loss I was undergoing.

You are built to pull a cart, to lift a heavy load and bear it, to haul up the long slope, and so am I, peasant bodies, earthy, solid shapely dark glazed clay pots that can stand on the fire.

Grandmother Hannah comes to me at Pesach and when I am lighting the sabbath candles. The sweet wine in the cup has her breath.... a little winter no spring can melt.

We lie in each other's arms eyes shut and fingers open and all the colors of the world pass through our bodies like strings of fire.

In her bottled up is a woman peppery as curry, a yam of a woman of butter and brass.

Remember that every son had a mother whose beloved son he was, and every woman had a mother whose beloved son she wasn't.