I've been beautiful my entire life.

A glimpse of light catches my eyes, a fortune has been told somewhere in the world, a destiny has been planned, a child understands that their life is something more than actions and words. Connections. Connections with people, those universal spirits and sprites that make the soul soar, that make the flicker of white continue.

Although predominately a poet, a writer, I feel obligated to be a historian firstly:

When I was seven years old, I met the two men who would change my life forever. My two best friends, my lovers, the ones I would die for, the ones I have died for. Harry was quiet and solid: philosophical, big, a rock, a thinker. He looked at things and knew instantly what they were, what they represented. He was deep in a shy, silent, auburn-haired way. And James Reverend (my Rev) was the comedian. A skinny, tousled, brown-haired child, with shiny bright teeth and the optimism that makes him perfect for every woman but me. At seven, the three of us were inseperable.

At fifteen, I was dating my Rev.

At sixteen, I was in love with Harry.

At seventeen, my mother, a single parent, a violent woman who had cheated destiny, who had cheated everyone, threw me out of our house. She hit me in our hallway with a pan until Harry rescued me, carried me into his parent's enormous marble foyer, and laid me at their feet. They loved me and gave me a place to live, they built me my own room with a million books and a wrought iron bed. I was happy and content. I was pregnant with twins.

By the age of eighteen, I had three young boys and a nanny. I was attending college only because my new parents made me: they knew that I loved knowledge, that I loved the world, that I had nothing if not an education. I went to classes and was third in my class; my new husband, Harry, was studying to go to medical school, and Rev, our best friend, was over at the house any time he wasn't working. My three boys were smart and calm, they were always with me, studying with me: I would read out loud Nabakov and Bronte, Austen and James. They played football and rugby with Harry and Rev as soon as they could walk, and had nice manners. The neighbors loved them. They were sick all the time from being out in the rain.

At twenty-one, Harry's parents gave us money to move. They started trust funds for my children, they gave me my own account only to be used for education. My mother-in-law begged me to continue what I had started, she grabbed my cheeks and kissed them saying, "The world will love you." Rev had a child all in his care now, a tiny girl named Trinity. His wife of one year had left him in utter misery, not caring what happened even to her only child. In a way, I was Trinity's mother. Harry and I moved the children to London, but they were not happy without open green grass for their taking.

Now at twenty-two, my family lives near the big city (New York), going to school and meeting new people. Rev and Trinity have moved near us. They could not let us get away. My husband attends medical school while I work at graduate school, writing pieces on lost or dead authors. I sell articles for minimal amounts of money. My parents-in-law are growing old together in their own enourmous house. They add to my children's education funds every two months. I have six children now, and Trinity is my seventh. Rev and Harry add up to make eight.

I feel infinite.

She picked magenta berries from the sweetbriar flower,

no bitterness could keep her from wanting more.

A trickle of ice glass covered her infinite floor

and the universality of her life seemed

comforting.