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WHEN MY DAUGHTER TELLS ME I WAS NEVER PUNK • JESSICA WALSH I say, honey, my being alive is punk. I made my life out of grudges when I saw the odds placed against me, when my role was to marry a man who'd kill me and give me my hot young death, a guy named Charles who would have and nearly did - the day I said fuck you and threw his keys in the snow? That was punk. When I called a nice guy who'd loved me steady and thought what if I can try staying alive, that was punk; when I had my last drink and surrendered the scene, that too was punk, and yes I miss the me who would be dead because I was a bottle rocket, a pipe bomb of a good time but my being alive is the middle finger I never put down- I did not let these days go by, I clawed each one from dirt, and when I get my nails done I am stockpiling weapons, when I buy groceries, when 1 gas up the car, I am threatening to survive long enough to piss off a million awful people to be alive in spite of, I am promising to stay flagrantly alive: This is my beautiful house. I am this beautiful wife. How did I get here, I say, by my fucking teeth.