There are times you wonder if the things
you say in the classroom make the kind
of sense you want to make— if you spoke
clearly, without stumbling, of ideas
that filled you with such excitement when you
first read or learned them— You know
how hard it is to let someone in, how hard
to come close to another's experience; know
how most times it's skirt and dodge, no eye contact,
fine thank you. What use is language then?
At home, you stand at the sink and lick the batter
off the spatula to taste the sugars before they
were cooked, to see if you can find a trail of salt,
some indissoluble essence at the heart of things.


