One by one my sorrows drift to the cold kitchen before I'm even aware it's morning— When I come downstairs, their hands are wrist-deep in the sink, pale fingertips tracing the hallmarks on the dirty undersides of china... If by this automatic industry they mean there's a beyond even when you think you've hit bottom, I'll take it. Since they're a kind of rehearsal for the un- imaginable, I let them show me how to slice the bread and boil the eggs, spoon the coffee beans into the grinder. They lead the way, they after all lead the way. Eat, they say; and drink. It will take strength to push us out the door
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