I learned to love what we had: the long, bright days, the water all around us, and even their slithery bodies, which somehow never dried under the pounding sun.

La Petite Ange had lived all her life in Paris under the strange architectural twists of Notre Dame. She had been a Bluebell girl once, kicking her surprisingly long legs into the air to the delight of plumbers and Prince du…

He'd tend the door himself in high lace up boots, orange rhinestone hot pants, a tight black t-shirt, and black boa with orange swirl.

The contrast can be summed up in a sip.

Three micros

Matilda went wild at sixty-five. Legs left unshaven for the first time in fifty years, hair still and proud, knotted with forgetting. She’d roam the streets at night, a traveler without design. Matilda was a gardener of sorts, digging up all previous assu

“Your mother has problems,” he told the kids.

Wanna,wanna, whoop de loop. Hold my baby, kiss my mom, dance the way I used to do. Desktops, blacktops, cut and paste, speed down hills, learn the rules, Sister Saint Marion, married to Christ. Sixteen, life-green, pink tights, Swan Lake, an…

The other day I’m in the backyard with one of my kids, doing what he’s calling a training exercise, which is basically the two of us with flashlights, shinning the beams over the grass and up into the night to see what we can see.

So they told him he better get ready to join the army because that’s where it was at, for him. After all, not everybody could split coconuts with their hands.

In the cool, damp morning, Jeremiah trembled, from the weight of the gun, from fear he would miss.

it's time for the cold, antiseptic cloth to briskly remove the evidence.

I bought some charlatan art / and hung it on the wall

This is what happens when a writer falls in love...

I'm in Joel's front yard when I dodge the third call from my divorce lawyer. I'm here for Joel; I can't seem to show up anywhere unless it's for someone else. We watch his son, Andy, push his bike up the hill. This is the…