Our mother gives us our earliest lessons in love- and its partner, hate. Our father-our "second other"-elaborates on them.
[On writing her first poem at age eight:] An ode to my dead mother and father, who were both alive and pretty pissed off.
Our father presents an optional set of rhythms and responses for us to connect to. As a second home base, he makes it safer to roam. With him as an ally--a love--it is safer, too, to show that we're mad when we're mad at our mother. We can hate and not be abandoned, hate and still love.
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