Lydia Havens From the Voices, February 2011 Your mother's hushing voice was never there. Neither was the boy, blowing air at your face. You are a fistful of Kansas violence now. You've got the good girl's fate. But don't let that stop you— keep sewing every Friday you make it to to the last one. Let the bathtub swallow you whole again. Remember that the world began in a manic episode, too. God likes to hoard sharp things, just like you. We are saving you. And we need to hear it one more time: Who knows best?