I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.

I didn't want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.

I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.

Does a good person
Think this way? I deserve

Credit for my courage--

I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn't let you go
That proved she didn't love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn't she want you to be happy?

I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.

I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus--
In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on
Is moving away. With one hand
She's waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.

The dream doesn't rescue the maiden.

you promised.

I love you so much
Even though we don't talk a lot
everything is fine

My faith is twisted,
and constantly turning.
Through church halls and quiet sermons.
During cold white winters and
hot
steamy
summers.
Faith is the prayers mummered over meals,
under the yellow dimming lights of a dining room,
as the world turns outside.
My faith, it changes on the daily.
Twisted through my bones,
and inter weaved in the brain cells of my ancestors,
passed down from generations of church goers.
My faith can be summed up in the song Mert hums behind me on a Sunday.
A beautiful song,
but never quite yet finished.