When A Woman Starts To Disentangle Herself

Soul. The Word Rebounded To Me, And I Wondered, As I Often Had, What It Was Exactly. People Talked About It All The Time, But Did Anybody Actually Know? Sometimes I'd Pictured It Like A Pilot Light Burning Inside A Person--a Drop Of Fire From The Invisible Inferno People Called God. Or A Squashy Substance, Like A Piece Of Clay Or Dental Mold, Which Collected The Sum Of A Person's Experiences--a Million Indentations Of Happiness, Desperation, Fear, All The Small Piercings Of Beauty We've Ever Known.

My Children Have Always Existed At The Deepest Center Of Me, Right There In The Heart/hearth, But I Struggled With The Powerful Demands Of Motherhood, Chafing Sometimes At The Way They Pulled Me Away From My Separate Life, Not Knowing How To Balance Them With My Unwieldy Need For Solitude And Creative Expression.

One Day I Will Have To Forgive Life For Ending, I Tell Myself. I Will Have To Learn How To Let Life Be Life With Its Unbearable Finality ... Just Be What It Is.

Nobody Around Here Had Ever Seen A Lady Beekeeper Till Her. She Liked To Tell Everybody That Women Made The Best Beekeepers, 'cause They Have A Special Ability Built Into Them To Love Creatures That Sting. It Comes From Years Of Loving Children And Husbands.

This Is The Autumn Of Wonders, Yet Every Day, Every Single Day, I Go Back To That Burned Afternoon In August When T. Ray Left. I Go Back To That One Moment When I Stood In The Driveway With Small Rocks And Clumps Of Dirt Around My Feet And Looked Back At The Porch. And There They Were. All These Mothers. I Have More Mothers Than Any Eight Girls Off The Street. They Are The Moons Shining Over Me.