We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Sweet Jesus, the last verse will break your heart. This woman is so quivering raw just underneath the membrane of fine English. Here's another from her, The Lightning is a Yellow Fork,
with the same motif of the most familiar even mudane moving objects --the house, home, cutlery, dinner, school kids at play --we hardly notice them as they are everyday and so seem eternal, and this feeling of the concrete ordinariness (imho she's saying) is the very opposite of the terrible truth of the lightness of our being, the truth that acknowledged as all the other truths are, would so boggle the odds in the risky gambling for love.
Speaking of which, how about Emily Dickinson for that who-would-you-want-to-be-marooned-on-an-island-with question?
The Lightning is a yellow Fork
From Tables in the sky
By inadvertent fingers dropt
The awful Cutlery
Of mansions never quite disclosed
And never quite concealed
The Apparatus of the Dark
To ignorance revealed.