In short, for me - I'm kind of projecting onto you - distraction has become a modus vivendi, a way of life. Rather than complaining, I am recognizing that I couldn't do what I wanted to do because I'm distracted.

The consciousness of one's physical self had to be repressed because, socially, the female body was so visible, an ongoing provocation and incitement of specular curiosity and fascination.

The poem is not a physical body. It's a textual body that has life only insofar as it can act symbolically. It cannot physically act.

When someone asks me now, "What do you do?" I will be able to say, "I am a writer."

I'm in my 60s, and a cancer scare just makes you more aware of mortality.

I guess my writing through time has focused on a number of dimensions that reflect separately on the meaning and social place of the female body.

I did not write about that kind of insecurity and anxiety between myself and my brothers, because my father was the dominant male figure as I was growing up in that home.