Kids were for later, maybe. They could still see the children they had been.
It's strange to own anything, Beverly thinks, even your flesh, that nobody outside yourself ever touches or sees.
It is a special kind of homelessness, says our mayor, to be evicted from your dreams.
When you’re raising weather by artificial means, it’s hard to pretend you don’t have a hand in the change
When you are a kid, it’s hard to tell the innocuous secrets from the ones that will kill you if you keep them.
Sometimes you are able to keep moving because you are not really yourself anymore. Your entire brain can shrink to one pinhead of cognition, one star in a night. I was acquainted with it, this bright...
She’s dead. She’s dead.
People are symptoms of dreams
Pain collected into deep pockets and I was aware of this painbut somehow I could not seem to feel it. It was like a body-deafness.
I whispered to Ossie that I wanted to see the register for Death’s aeroplane. Who was boarding the plane in such a stupid order? The
I swim with all my strength. No superhuman surge, or pony heroics; it's just me at my most desperate.
I just want to tell her that I'm sorry, Wallow says softly. He doesn't know that I'm awake. He's talking to himself, or maybe to the ocean. There's not a trace of fear in his voice. And it's clear the...
I had been eagerly waiting just such a disaster. Storms, wolves, snakebite, floods-these are the occasions to find out how your father sees you, how strong and necessary he thinks you are.
But things can be over in horizontal time and just beginning in your body, I’m learning. Sometimes the memory of that summer feels like a spore in me, a seed falling through me.
At the Hoho’s Family Restaurant, Beverly treats herself to peanut butter pancakes and world news.
As a kid I heard the word malignancy as Malig-Nancy like an evil woman's name, no matter how many times Kiwi and the Chief and Dr. Gautman himself corrected me. Our mother had mistaken her first sympt...
Any place, then, can become a cemetery. All it takes is your body. It's not fair, I think, and I get this petulant wish for ugly flowers and mourners, my mother's old familiar grief. Somebody I love t...
We didn’t talk about Eric Mutis, but the effort of not talking about him made our actual words feel like fizz, just a lot of speedy emptiness.
THE ALLIGATOR IS AN ANACHRONISM THAT CAN EAT YOU!
Secret deals get brokered behind the Barn, just north of the red sloop of the bunny hutch. A number of the presidents are planning their escape for a day they are calling the Fourth of July.