assembling my review Her purple and green eye's are bolted to the marble head on the shelf up above the stove. The yellow foam in her brown chair smells like the cat's stomach. Ruby's singing mad singing like she's gone home drunk, Everyone likes the soup and Everyone's in the shower she'll Close the flat glass door and Turn on all the weather She lives in the Brooklyn with a man that knows her guy. Once it happened she was in love, Oh sentimental me. Nobody does it better, she say's to the tall floating whistle of steam in the dripping black window. Her house is blue. It's a little bit like a cold vein or a jagged crook of stream in a winding country novel. Ruby likes to think that she knows all of the winding words in that heavy book but all she gets are the pictures and maybe the place in the map. The scale is under the sink. She sets it on the table with a plate of small carrots and warm hummus. At nine she exchanges ...