i think about the things that i have come from and come through, and i don’t remember ever being so hungry. i think about childhood, girlhood, adulthood. i think about stages and revolutions and rotations of memory and how there is not so much left to discuss. there were canines at the back door and the skins of leather jackets draped; there was a storm that dissolved my infancy and one that left me running. i could want to know where it is that everybody goes, but if i found out i might just go looking. i could open that back door and let the dogs in; lie down with them on the floor of the kitchen and absorb the hum of momentary relief. i could eat my words and i could chain you down. i could grind my jaw less and, yes i could annihilate my own indignation with the back of your hand. it is these words that make it so simple, but they are only suggestions of a feeling i had when i was twelve.