Circle

On Quitting

23 On Quitting How many times will I quit you, how many times will you amend me, stitch, and mend me again? In college, I could see the world’s thirty most powerful women clearly. Now I imagine what to tell my unborn children as they watch his tune-ups—just minor tweaks here and there, only after I’ve bought into the program. I’ve always looked great on three hours of sleep, bleeding at the eyes, away from garden gloves, Tilex with special bleach, from Kama Sutra’s love secrets. No winter squash, gourds, Indian corn, pumpkins tucked in fall. Instead, I’ve repositioned my portfolio on its edge again, autumn planters on their side from wind—too much focus on streets and lights, on keeping. How many times have you found me out, molding your lips with an industrial tongue, noting other women’s skills for soap-making, sweeping, making ordinary tasks enjoyable. Each time I set the table, I move you one more seat away. 24 ...