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Cicadas shed their skin as they grow, leaving crisp hollowed out remains on tree trunks, fence posts, and the undersides of upturned leaves. Tommy and I would collect them in the early morning and stick them to our clothes like brooches. I used to like Tommy,…
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122375
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I thought I heard
Follow your heart
On the cold, cold
Night of the soul
I thought I heard
Follow your heart, follow your heart
On this coldest night
Of the soul
Leaves on fire, leaves on fire
They told me look
Into the flames
To
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“It’s a sad thing,” I said, “when a man has to suffer just for getting a little on the side.”
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158072
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"Penning a slight of tongue well versed
or worse, a salacious lie..."
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Lila began to hear whispers coming from her home's air vents and quickly assumed people were watching her. Maybe that was why the yard was not progressing she thought. The unknowns talking to her through the vents had control over everything she did.
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He plucks the feathers and winds thread to simulate an insect’s torso.
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She said he was missing the whole point: it was a decoration, not an actual pillow. You were supposed to place it somewhere artful.
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She didn't care for the taste. Slightly salty and sweet at the same time, but she let him come in her mouth just the same
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TV and power cord valorized in dust,/
wires and digital guts unimpaired, I’d guess . . .
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When I was fifteen and we were moving to Mississippi, my boyfriend in Canada told me I was going to live in the swamp with the alligators. I didn’t understand why my father would pick such a hick place. Rob gave me his cricket bat to hang over my bed, a
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Traveling in half-lit fluorescence, she smiles up at me, pale and strained
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“Careful of the shells,” yousaid. I wanted to tasteyour white, and makea table of your midriff. Georgia's just aplace withso little, butan island nevertheless. Sky's a thing weseem to be, when thelight focuses on…
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They blew in the doorway of the café at the French Hotel like two sparrows chasing each other. Their wings down in the dust, unheeding any danger in their hunger for each other. I knew the man who was about to become her husband, so maybe this was her las
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The World's Worst Mime stood there next to the iron carousel, portraying something, and the crowd understood none of it, except that whatever thing he was trying to portray was not being portrayed well at all.
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The arithmetic of human experience/
is always a losing game for some. Poor Jane. Rich Dick.
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They stand together in the doorway looking at the crib.
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The woman abruptly closed her legs.
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it acquires a fine translucence
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He reappeared in spring, some Sunday morning, perhaps Easter, when the twigs of the catalpa trees budded and lawns smelled of mud and breaking seeds.
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“Americans like beer, right?” he asks. “It’s not acceptable for a woman to buy beer.” He proffers it in a brown paper bag.
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The surroundings, he thought, are just as important as what's surrounded.
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He laughs and runs just like the other boys even though he doesn’t have a father now, just his mom.
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That morning, four children appeared in front of the train, which was ready to depart
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18673
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The only promotion I can do. Excerpts from the most recent book.
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160474
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Food is silly. Eating is silly. Yet the camaraderie of sharing a table is not silly. It is sacred. It becomes silly when the jello arrives.
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Later, at home, on the internet, I assemble fragments of street celebrations from cities one coast to the other. I watch them and listen in the compressed fidelity of computer speakers. How strangely things feel.
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When you encounter a body laying on the road, drive over it.
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How to capture in word, in song, the fleeting moments of our loveYou were hereAnd now you're goneEven as I used to lie next to you,bathed in the care and concern that emanated from your warm black brown eyes,I knew there would be that day, that you were no moreDestined for…
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