All Storms Have Women’s Names
I’ve nurtured a rancor in this room.
All the furniture here is ugly,
because the furniture is mine.
The cupboards are filled with wounds.
Hateful heirlooms for my daughter,
and my daughter’s daughter,
and her daughter’s daughter.
Mothers without daughters are the saddest things.
I know that swans are monogamous
and that pearls melt in vinegar,
but mothers without daughters
are the saddest things.
The Empath Dies First
If he is not a liar, he cannot charm me.
Everybody loves a good lie.
When I was still healthy,
I thought pain was so mysterious.
Now I teem with every illness,
except the one I want.