"Story."
"Some days it seems I have a lot to say,
that life holds important and beautiful stories.
Other days, life isn't shaped like that--
into stories and whatnot.
Some of those other times I feel, you know,
tired, lazy, nothing to say, nothing
to do, no interest in anything, irritated with myself for not
holding to various standards, not thin enough,
don't remember enough dates in history,
shouldn't have treated A or B human
that way, how will I feel when they are dead,
wouldn't it be nice to have a drink right now, maybe
a gin and tonic, or maybe a shot of tequila,
or maybe a glass of cognac in bed with the long book
I'm reading at the moment--
the author of which feels life when he writes,
or at least it seems that way.
When I see a woman in stretch pants and a push-up bra
and lots of eyeliner, I make a vague mental note
to dress more like her tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I'll put the effort in.
So then tomorrow comes and I put on a T-shirt and jeans.
Although I do have these basketball sneakers--
they're blue.
Cocteau says you aren't free until your parents are dead,
but I think the main problem is with my name.
I've got to start going by Sheehan.
Sheehan says you are free even if your parents aren't dead.
Sheehan says that green eyeliner and stretchy
pants are the thing.
And also that you don't need to have 18 cats,
or write naked, or wear all white, to be somebody.
The problem with life is that it isn't over,
that's the problem with that story.
What about sounds?
I can do sounds.
The way I sounded out mag-nif-i-cent when I typed it,
or the beeps and wrinkles that count for words from my baby.
Or my husband's voice at night, the sound of our voices
together in the dark, murmurs of assent after lovemaking,
like two shoppers who found a very nice brass lamp,
or two giddy senior citizens who've come upon the shrimp
bowl at a buffet.
I think Rushdie is good, too, and Hemingway.
I think writing about sex in general would be fine,
and also writing like a fucking maniac, in a café.
Sheehan writes like a fucking maniac, in a café,
sources will murmur confidentially."