And to tempt you into buying it, here is part of "Cup-tin and the Old Woman", which is a limerick-

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"I have so many stories to tell you," she said,
"but I'll just pick one and tell that one instead."
And so as the evening turned into night
The old woman talked in the fire's weak light.
Cup-tin listened, rapt, as a life filled with wonder
Spilled out in the room, rising over and under
The things on the shelves, rose up into the sky
Filled all of the branches, grew wings and took flight.
After hours had passed, the story was done.
Three big yellowed clocks were all striking one.

She opened the stove to look at the fire.
The flames felt the draft and shot up a foot higher.
"And you!" said the woman, "to where were you walking?
Did you walk all this way just to witness me talking?
You've nothing!" she said, "Not a thing in your hands!
Not a bag for your socks or a patch for your pants!
You're walking the forest, in some strange direction,
Sleeping at night with no tent for protection!
Where are the parents that gave you your life?
Where is your hat, and your compass and knife?
Where are the friends with which you would talk?
What do you do with your thoughts as you walk?"

"I've nothing, it's true," answered Cup-tin quite simply.
"I'm lonely and cold and my pockets are empty.
Save for my watch to tell me the date,
Which I may have lost just today, as I ate.
But my thoughts! I couldn't begin to explain!
I have so much potential! So much to gain!
There are things I could make! And people to meet!
And places to live that aren't on the street!
A garden to plant! A journal to keep!
A bed I could build in which I could sleep!
It's only, you see," and she looked at the floor,
"Whatever I make I don't have anymore.
Nothing in all of the world is our own.
We cannot maintain it. It's only on loan.
Your house and your things, the trees and the sky!
They crumble to dirt, they rot and they die!
You lose them, they yellow, they shatter and mold,
There's nothing to keep! Not a thing you can hold!
Even our bodies we have to return-
We lose every one of the skills that we learned!
That's why I make nothing. And have not a thing.
In my head I imagine and wonder and dream.
But an object of worth that you build with your hands
Can be gone in an instant! Do you understand?"

The woman just laughed, and closed her bright eyes.
Cup-tin may be right, but the woman was wise.
In one hand anticipation, in the other was fear,
And her long life had taught her to hold them both dear.

"I guess I should go," said Cup-tin rather sadly.
"I should be getting on, though I'd like to stay, badly."
The old woman sighed and shook her head with disdain.
"You'll stay here for the night. Don't go out in that rain.
It's late and quite stormy in every direction.
I'll give you some bedding. I have quite a collection!
Now, I've made you some tea, it's soothing and warming.
We can eat a big breakfast and talk more in the morning.
I'm glad that you found me, I'm glad that you're here-
I have so many tales for your eager young ears!"

Cup-tin chose a bed that was low to the ground,
With flat beaten pillows and quilts in a mound.
She climbed deep inside and pulled the quilts up.
The woman was washing, and rinsing her cup.
She then made a circle and wound all her clocks
Took seventeen keys and locked twenty-three locks
Her bed was a loft way up near the ceiling
So small was the space that she had to crawl, kneeling
Under the covers all mended and stained
To sleep with the darkness and tap of the rain
Like popcorn on the roof so close to her head
What wonderful sleep! What a wonderful bed!

The two fell asleep as the fire died down
The stove clanged and ponged and made curious sounds
The woman was warm in her loft way up high
She was dreaming of big empty motionless sky
A hot summer sky, an ocean of blue,
And on the horizon, it dipped and it flew,
A little grey seagull, alone out in space.
A speck on the ocean's broad shimmering face.
Just bright sun and sky, and a bird and the sea,
She flew light on the breeze in her deep, gentle sleep.
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AND, I'm re-issueing the CONTROVERSIAL FIRST ISSUE OF MY ZINE, circa 2006, where I TOTALLY SAY SOMETHING CLASSIST, in a story that I wrote way back in 2004. See what all the drama is about! (and also read the incredibly beautiful piece that I wrote when I was in New Orleans, which remains one of my favorite things that I've ever written.) This issue is $3