Creating was prayer. I followed one word after another. One image and then another. Here on a tangled rectangle of a page stood a dreaming house. Here I made a room in which I could speak and say whatever came to me to speak. Here I could sing, and it would not be forbidden to be: breathing and singing girl, history, the myth of dying and returning, a burning bird with a comet tail, a baby who could not stop crying, a girl running away, too light, too dark, too wrong, too right, taken for a ride on a moonlight night, a woman with children on her back running, always running uptight, outta
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