Belles-Lettres

My race has forgotten the beauty of meaning much by saying little. Now tongues work all by themselves with no help from the mind. I could make a point strong enough to stop a womb--or a knife. Each story has a monster in it who made them tough instead of brave so they open their legs rather than their hearts where that folded child is tucked. Most demons get hungry at supper time like us.

It was a productive pain. If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy. The desirability that escaped me. What experience would you like on Christmas? over What gift would you like on Christmas? Pain was not only endurable, it was sweet. It would involve, I supposed, "my man," who before leaving, would love me. "How do you do that? I mean, how would you get someone to love you?" Dealing with it each according to his way. The muted sound of flesh on unsurprised flesh. To have something as wonderful as that to happen would take a long, long time. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people. Don't worry about my bandy legs. That's the 1st thing they push aside. She was cut out for better things and could make the right man happy. Eyes that questioned nothing and asked everything. He was a simple Presence, an all embracing tenderness with strength and promise of rest. Having a baby is more than a bowel movement. Her process o...