But it's a sad one.
I don't want to end on a sad one, but it just makes sense.
I like that poem after this poem.
[MUMBLES]
Well, OK, I can't find it.
All right.
So my tabs did nothing.
[LAUGHTER]
You see all these tabs I had, right?
They're-- I'm trying to be like so organized,
and then it didn't work at all.
OK, so I'll read this one and then I'll end on this.
"Where You Could Sit Up Straight."
"I have walked with half a skull.
And I have walked with a blanch shell.
I have walked, legs split hungry,
and I have walked too old.
And my body bones around the middle,
and I sling open one eye to the white whale of you,
blowing up spittle and gorge and chunks of barnacle hunkered
between two ankles.
Where I have inched close to a dribble, a crawl,
a hunkering over like a fat black man,
white chested, carrying the fragile egg of us
over weighted ice.
I have walked on thick toes, and you never said a word.
I have walked hands out of gloves.
I have walked.
Dragged sled with you slumped over in it,
and we have fallen on the ice.
We have fallen with our glass bottles of milk and boiled
water, and our hands cut up.
I have walked carrying roof siding, and wool bedding,
and fat.
And I have walked carrying nails between fingers.
And I have walked with wood, and enough ocean floor
to build you small rooms where you could sit up straight.
I have walked and you have watched me go.
You have watched me go and said nothing.
And you have said nothing, and sat still, great egg."
Thank you so much.
[APPLAUSE]