The Most Fatal Thing A

This Was Her, Mick Kelly, Walking In The Daytime And By Herself At Night. In The Hot Sun And In The Dark With All The Plans And Feelings. This Music Was Her—the Real Plain Her...this Music Did Not Take A Long Time Or A Short Time. It Did Not Have Anything To Do With Time Going By At All. She Sat With Her Arms Around Her Legs, Biting Her Salty Knee Very Hard. The Whole World Was This Symphony, And There Was Not Enough Of Her To Listen... Now That It Was Over There Was Only Her Heart Beating Like A Rabbit And This Terrible Hurt.

The Music Left Only This Bad Hurt In Her, And A Blankness. She Could Not Remember Any Of The Symphony, Not Even The Last Few Notes. She Tried To Remember, But No Sound At All Came To Her. Now That It Was Over There Was Only Her Heart Like A Rabbit And This Terrible Hurt.

... And We Are Not Alone In This Slavery. There Are Millions Of Others Throughout The World, Of All Colors And Races And Creeds. This We Must Remember. There Are Many Of Our People Who Hate The Poor Of The White Race, And They Hate Us. The People In This Town Living By The River Who Work In The Mills. People Who Are Almost As Much In Need As We Are Ourselves. This Hatred Is A Great Evil, And No Good Can Ever Come From It... The Injustice Of Need Must Bring Us All Together And Not Separate Us. We Must Remember That We All Make The Things Of This Earth Of Value Because Of Labor.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.

The Way I Need You Is A Loneliness I Cannot Bear.