It is my brother's birthday. The monarch butterfly which my mother discovered as an egg on a milkweed leaf last week and tenderly brought inside to be sheltered from hungry birds and fed on fresh-picked milkweed eclosed and flew free this afternoon, she hopes to join its kindred in migration; she showed me pictures of the transparent empty chrysalis, the wings like black and gold stained glass. My physical situation which had been cautiously mending has rather abruptly cratered. And Toni Morrison died. I go back and forth between feeling philosophical about the constant changing of the universe and thinking that a small amount of stability really wouldn't hurt anyone.
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- 1: But somehow the vital connection is made
- 2: Do you like tying knots in things?
- 3: There's always somebody downstairs
- 4: A lie you told to the maze I'm in
- 5: Wrote a scholar from the island that they kept from me
- 6: Many arms around the mast as your ship starts cracking
- 7: I do some of my best work in the British Museum
- 8: I made a deal with the devil, but I never got paid
- 9: How do you love? How do you solve the etiquette?
- 10: And I'm sorry that I forgot that binders don't go in the dryer
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