I am not so different in my history of abandonment from anyone else after all. We have all been split away from the earth, each other, ourselves.

Each life reverberates in every other life. Whether or not we acknowledge it, we are connected, woven together in our needs and desires, rich and poor, men and women alike.

Ordinary women attempt to change our bodies to resemble a pornographic ideal. Ordinary women construct a false self and come to hate this self.

How many small decisions accumulate to form a habit? What a multitude of decisions, made by others, in other times, must shape our lives now.

Poetry is a good medium for revolutionary hope.

Even in the grimmest of circumstances, a shift in perspective can create startling change.

But still, the other voice, the intuitive, returns, like grass forcing its way through concrete.