A spinning top is the perfect metaphor for my life right now. I don’t advance much: I can run a bit further than I could two months ago, and I have two more poems to my credit; but mostly, I spin. I make beds, wash dishes, sweep the floor, cook meals, sweep meals, cook beds, make the floor … and somehow, wash more dishes. And I do all of this so that my children can advance. I do it until about 10:00 p.m., when I begin to wobble. Then, I fall over into my blessed bed. When morning comes, my children pull my string, and I do it again. All over again.