This, on the other hand, is a poem in defense of the family.
I wrote it when a friend of mine accused me
of hiding in the safety of a family.
And I told her that I didn't see how
she could have grown up in a family
and considered it a safe place to hide.
[LAUGHTER]
Who Is It Accuses Us?
Who is it accuses us of safety?
As if the family were soldiers instead of hostages,
as if the gardens were not mined with explosive peonies, as
if the most common death were not by household accident.
We have chosen the dangerous life.
Consider the pale necks of the children
under their colored headscarves, the skin
around the husband's eyes flayed by guilt and promises.
You, who risk no more than your own skins, I tell you,
household gods are jealous gods.
They will cover your window sills with the dust of sunsets.
They will poison your secret wells with longing.