And My Sister, My Lindsey, Left Me

To Transform Experience And Thought Into Language And Narrative - That Is Beautiful Even If That Beauty Is In Brokenness.

The Alcohol Had The Effect Of Making The Black Cloth Blacker. This Amused Her; She Had Noted In Her Journal: "booze Affects Material As It Does People.

At The Tips Of The Feathers There Is Air And At Their Base: Blood. I Hold Up Bones; I Wish Like Broken Glass They Could Court Light....still I Try To Place These Pieces Back Together, To Set Them Firm, To Make Murdered Girls Live Again.

I Have Never Been Shy About Listening To The Input Of Others And Weighing It Seriously.

Hold Still," My Father Would Say, While I Held The Ship In The Bottle And He Burned Away The Strings He'd Raised The Mast With And Set The Clipper Ship Free On Its Blue Putty Sea. And I Would Wait For Him, Recognizing The Tension Of That Moment When The World In The Bottle Depended, Solely, On Me.