Once I saw a statue of a man who was trying to hold the world up from falling with his hands. He was getting very tired, but he kept holding. I wish I had that kind of strength, ‘cause I’m getting very tired, and all I have to hold up with my shoulders is my head.

(Somedays I find it hard just to lift my face up from the pillow. I’m so damned tired - I can hardly get my feet out of the bed. The morning sunlight blinds my eyes.)

But somedays I wake to find a weight’s been lifted from my feet. The morning traffic sounds something like a song - something like a prayer said especially for me. I’m still holding, but I’m getting very tired.

1995