“I have lived many lives, and this one life Of Joe, long dead, who lives between five bells.”

Between the double and the single bell Of a ship’s hour, between a round of bells From the dark warship riding there below

Time that is moved by little fidget wheels Is not myTime, the flood that does not flow.

What if Jesus was the only normal person who ever lived?

Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.

You can’t understand light unless you understand darkness, because that’s where life is most often lived – somewhere between the two. It’s messy and it’s beautiful all at the same time.

May I not seem to have lived in vain.

We literally lived underground. We dug a hole and lived there for years. My father cleaned public toilets, even though he was a highly respected poet.

I feel that I’ve lived and see the same evolution in this regard around disability.

Once again, we find ourselves back in the unknown – not in the idea of the unknown, but in the lived reality of it. It’s the mind humbled, on its knees, with bare feet and free of the known.

Each feminist work has tended to be received as if it emerged from nowhere; as if each one of us had lived, thought, and worked without any historical past or contextual present.