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I wonder why I feel bound to the gray-dry skin of you, the barrenness of feet.

He loathed them most, despising their desire to get on with things.

The day was beyond the reach of words like tragic and hilarious.

A family becomes fossilized—a darker crosshatch etched in hard sand.

Picture the thing you want most. True love? A new car? Let it go.

Your life is your own and then suddenly it belongs to someone else.

Come winter, they go to the funeral early & count the living.

The Morgan nosed her for another carrot. She petted his neck. She had loved to canter.

My stepfather has gone out with a blanket to place over a doe’s body.

The problem, as it turned out, is: Forever can be surprisingly short.

Stocking shelves, like serving, is a job that will not let go of your mind.

They found her where such girls are found. A Manhattan street.

He could not stop marveling at the velvet quality of
her skin.

The palm’s outline shimmied in the sunlight against the aqua curtain.

Life has never been in remission or rehabilitation. Life doesn’t sing.

Any white man without a servant was presumed to be in need of help.

How do we bury
the dead stacking up against our picture window?

You are the only one who knows not to pour water on the flame.

My advice would be not to trust. The ocean is just the ocean until I say otherwise.

Lily hated Ray’s cancer. She couldn’t see it or cure it.

He had come to weavers’ Harris to make some testament.

Each year we fail to imagine how the days will blanch, the air will harden.

He was a child. He was dead. He was the shaft of a Long-tailed Astrapia.

It had always been this way. Mothering, for my mother, was a cameo role.

On Saturdays I listen to folk music, lead a life devoted to exodus.

I give you a real blue song the mountains hold under their foot.

Children can be seen as worldly things, not as souls with broken mirrors.

I want him to remember me hanging on his crosshairs.