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He could not help but take her as his wife. She was a scandal.

I found myself wondering what her life had been in her widowhood.

We’ve tried, but it seems it is in the stars for us to hate each other.

After days of torture in secret prisons, they were about to let him go.

El Presidente was no longer in a mood to see the American press.

Eavan’s death was catastrophic, leaving us all wanting more.

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the page, are letters up to no good.

The Kid came back from the post trader’s store with a six-shooter.

My mother’s city and I were both named after an assassinated king.

He was frightened, a creature no more or less unbound by time than I am.

Kids interfere with perfection. Wives interfere. Marriage interferes.

The letter both pleased and disturbed her. Why did he get in touch?

The house of our relationship is a fort. Blanket fort. Tree fort.

I tell her I’m a woman now, that my boobs just popped in.

The sense of power that flights of temper evoke will betray you.

A coldness bumped a last kiss upon my cheek, a good-bye kiss sliding across.

The eyes looked into his own with a meaning, a malign significance.

Here was rot and immemorial night. And death. Death above all.

I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.

I am eleven years old and too young to die, but I am dying nonetheless.

If, on your deathbed, you want to watch a movie, don’t let me pick.

He handed us sticks of dynamite, rolled in wax paper like taffy.

He always talked of making money with the air of a connoisseur.

“I mean it, Martín. I won’t marry a man with a bald lip, like a boy.”

Ron Carlson

This storm scares me. A foreign climate occupies the land.

I can’t hold a face held before dawn & not see behind the eyes bullets.

I forgot to detail that the jumper leapt from beside the hanging Monet.

It was a Saturday night in November when his diagnosis finally came.