If you are more close to the dying than you would like to be, then it is time for the sky to …
I was dressed and ready for church, waiting while the others bustled about in preparation, when a sudden conviction took hold of me: “I’m not going,” I told my mother.
We need always to be thinking and writing about poverty, for if we are not among its victims its reality fades from us. We must talk about poverty, because people insulated by their own comfort lose sight of it.
Eschew blandness. Eschew causing others pain. We are all the target so wear bright colors and dance with those you love.
She spoke to me. I know it was Her. I have no words with which to tell you how sure I am that it was the Mother. Trust me.
Einstein said that time moves at different rates throughout the universe. He must have been to Mexico, where time not only moves slower but has an altogether different texture and flavor than American time.
Hearing that old phrase “a good death,” / which I still don’t exactly understand, / I’ve decided I’ve already / had so many, I don’t need another.
Over and over I have discovered that my children feel alienated in environments where, at their age, I felt an automatic sense of belonging.
I bow to the pencil, the pencil maker, the tree that gave its wood, the graphite that fills its core, and the mind that conceived pencil. I bow to all the teeth and jaws that have chewed pencils out of boredom or nervousness.
