And Then I Understood That She Had

I Read Betty Smith's "a Tree Grows In Brooklyn," All Of Shirley Jackson's Books, Which I Loved.

My Mother's Blood That Would Last Forever After. The Blood Of My Brother, My Grandfather, My Father.

I Read "the Group" By Mary Mccarthy. It Had Tons Of Sex In It, Or So I Thought At The Time.

Among Men And Women, Those In Love Do Not Always Announce Themselves With Declarations And Vows. But They Are The Ones Who Weep When You're Gone. Who Miss You Every Single Night, Especially When The Sky Is So Deep And Beautiful, And The Ground So Very Cold.

That's Why There Are Ten Gates To Pass Through Before You Reach The Garden. If Life Were Easy There Would Be One Gate. There Would Be No Gates At All.