““ Rocking Chair Sad is. Scared is. That is all. The rocking chair I live in rocks like a paper boat. Sometimes I am all words, and no boot. No muster. No yes. All lag and tired pray, all miss my hometown. Miss the woods and the quiet porch and the talking slow. I caught the snow on my tongue. Snow angel, I. My heart a blue lamp. My mother calling me home. We cannot be called home enough times in our lives. Dear lonely, what is your name? I will open my front door and ring it through the streets.””
