I am a thirteen-year-old girl, and my parents hate me.
Boo-hoo! What shall I do?
*Your parents think you are one big sulking pile of **** and so do I.
But they also love every last bit of you (even the **** more deeply than you can know; always have, always will.
Write to me again when you have discovered free verse.*
I am a twenty-something new mother. I love this little stranger so much I could burst!
Help me find the words to tell every in and out, every fold and pulse of this tiny life.
*Oh sweetie, does it never occur to you that this has all been done before, many times?
Would you like to examine volume seven of my vacation photo album? (Look -- here's another one of me, in front of the Eiffel Tower, eating an ice cream.)
No? So learn a lesson, sweetie -- live your love, don't write it.*
I am a sixty-year-old male, past the best but not yet ready for the worst.
What does it all mean?
*My friend, here's a to-do list: observe, record, imagine, record, wonder, record. Revise, condense, select, re-shape, re-start. Repeat until sick; then beyond, as best you can.
It all means hard work.
But of course, you knew that, didn't you? After all, you are me.*