I hear the singing of the lives of women. They clear mystery, the offering, and pride.

One writes in order to feel.

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.

I hear the singing of the lives of women. They clear mystery, the offering, and pride.

No one wants to read poetry. You have to make it impossible for them to put the poem down--impossible for them to stop reading it, word after word. You have to keep them from closing the book.

However confused the scene of our life appears, however torn we may be who now do face that scene, it can be faced, and we can go on to be whole.

Whatever can happen to anyone can happen to me.