From the fifties and early sixties, I remember a cycle. It began when I had picked up a book or bega

From the fifties and early sixties, I remember a cycle. It began when I had picked up a book or began trying to write a letter… . The child (or children) might be absorbed in busyness, in his own dream world; but as soon as he felt me gliding into a world which did not include him, he would come to pull at my hand, ask for help, punch at the typewriter keys. And I would feel his wants at such a moment as fraudulent, as an attempt more- over to defraud me of living even for fifteen minutes as myself – Adrienne Rich

Photo: Carrie Mae Weems