Issue 116, Fall 1990
Used to be, I was always saying, This doesn’t count. I lived my life in secret, like if nobody saw, I didn’t really have it. I was barely there. I wouldn’t admit to a thing. Now I know that what humans observe and talk about is less than what I do alone, without live eyes on me. I want to tell you, don’t believe what you’ve already heard about me. Believe this here alone, I’ll tell you far worse than what they know. You see, I’m famous for the wrong reasons. The money girl. For nerving enough to say I care about other than money while I’m still making money. If you quit earning, they’ll let you be as high holy as you want. I’m not famous for baking prayer bread, as if just bread weren’t good enough for human gossip.
This doesn’t count. I won’t say that to you about us here today. This counts. For me this counts.