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Did Sharon and Roy make it harder or easier for their mother to leave?

cannibal chowder and a kiss by the splashing voices of a pool

To me, the very point of cooking is to wildly praise what’s wild.

I reviewed the rules for myself, among them: stay in the moment.

The transformation of their maid from shadow to sexpot thrills Maizie.

I used to be known for the humor of my music, the lightness of touch.

No one asked that, changed as he was, he do more than survive.

She offered her face up for what should be a brotherly kiss.

She’d lifted the plot from a TV show she’d watched the night before.

Well, back home has really changed, you won’t get that same bammy.

I was always being left behind in the mud, a bandage around my eyes.

Tomorrow I’ll be ratted out about the hunting, but I knew it’d be worth it.

The new generation doesn’t play war, which is a shame; they text.

Peter Taylor’s stories are jigsaw puzzles of nuance and suggestion.

Grief is a rude houseguest. She stays up late. She leaves messes.

Barbra Nightingale

Like a god I shook their tiny worlds, terrible but ineffectual storms.

He probably had an order. Ludes, Dexis, Black Birds—who knew.

I think you’re carrying on to get your brothers in trouble.

We’re all trying, in our own ways, to parse what we may have done wrong.

This summer I mothered my brother’s death; I brothered my mother’s cancer. My brother and mother died this summer, two of seven billion.

Collage what we can, form fractured and repaired, blend of is and isn’t.

Her skin was bruised under her eyes, purple like the swollen toe.

My sister’s fever wasn’t gone at all, but dazzling—suspended over us.

This is a place where young girls are butchered in old-time songs.

I thought that proved he blamed me. I thought they all did.

From the roof, my husband observed daily a man and a woman having sex.

There was a time when all I wanted was go back. Ask all the questions.

That day he stood on some threshold and paused and wept at his choice.