Emma Howell
	It Is the Morning of the Day of Bleach     — for Galway Kinnell It is the morning of the day of bleach, mid-month, day after payday     full moon     & we are cleaning the house     gutting the squash preparing the soup for our religion. Soon we’ll go down to the water to salt our selves clean. Meanwhile I set pumpkin with gergelin to boil.  Meanwhile I try to remember what my mother showed me — how lavender is the taste of purity and we grow it in herb boxes to remember how we are little girls and sleeping still whispers     this is the prayer of safe homes,     I live all day with the Book of Nightmares in my ear whispered toward my womb. With nightmares my mother cradled me to sleep. With nightmares I sing I raise the bread I will eat all week.  Between assaults I come in, my empty home lays hold of me, shrugs my bags off, unchains my feet.  The house whispers    calm yourself     eat your bread take your dose of nightmare sweet air. - Salvador, Brasil, 2001