Tuesdays take everything I've got, and even then, I want to find a cave in which to hide my yapping mouth, so I might tune my ears, move my hands in silent work, be still of thought and simply sway in the still, small whisper of breath rising in the fox-tailed grasses. To say honestly, I don't know. This is why I'm always asking what you think.
Everything done in front of others terrifies me. Is this the way with everyone?
I am not afraid of embarrassment. I used to be but not anymore. I suppose it is a raw and naked thing that can't hide itself no matter how I've tried to protect her. There she is in front of a room that would have frozen her shaking of voice, and I watch her sitting in the parking lot of Pac 'n Save with her eyes closed simply waiting until the sound of her own voice has collected, dropped below the swell of tears and she thinks, "Buy a candle. You have the fire. The light must not go out." And the candle is 8 bucks but no matter. It smells of roses, and this is what your Aunt Dottie said: "Some people say that when they have seen them, they left the scent of rose behind." And I need this.