If You Are Looking For Smart Judging

I Didn't Have A Chance To Buy You Anything," She Said, Then Held Both Closed Hands Toward Him. Uncurled Her Fingers. In Each Cupped Palm A Brown Egg. He Took Them. They Were Cold. He Thought It A Tender, Wonderful Thing To Do. She Had Given Him Something, The Eggs, After All, Only A Symbol, But They Had Come From Her Hands As A Gift. To Him. It Didn't Matter That He'd Bought Them Himself At The Supermarket The Day Before. He Imagined She Understood Him, That She Had To Love Him To Know That It Was The Outstreched Hands, The Giving, That Mattered.

But The Only Rhyme He Could Summon For 'out' Was 'sauerkraut,' Which Lacked Poetic Glory. He Let It Go. The Right Line Would Come In Time. That Was The Thing About Poetry. It Crept Up Through The Draws And Coulees Of The Brain.

Archie Was An Expert At Dividing The Affairs Of Life Into Men's Business And Women's Business. An Empty Cupboard And A Full Plate Were The Man's Business, A Full Cupboard And An Empty Plate The Concern Of The Woman.

Writing Comes From Reading, And Reading Is The Finest Teacher Of How To Write.

There Was Some Open Space Between What He Knew And What He Tried To Believe, But Nothing Could Be Done About It, And If You Can't Fix It You've Got To Stand It.