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“Why don’t you say anything, people? These thugs are murdering me!”

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

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

James Salter

James Salter

She had boyfriends before she met him. Well, not really boyfriends.

Our crowns are made of dead hair and get swept out with the trash.

All down my street the new fathers beat the kingness out of the kings.

The Poet Laureate reads three poems in his New Hampshire home.

Their house is what I see when I look up from my notebook.

Burly Viking raiders are standing in the coffee line, sharing pickles.

Certain elements of isolation were built into the design, given the odds.

I keep waking up on the edge of the black lake. He’s on the other side.

Her previous existence seemed unreal, now, a faint rumor.

The rings of Saturn flash their nothing yellows, nothing blues beautiful.

When one of the Baxters yelled, “Hey, Turd,” we all turned our heads.

Annette. Such a little bit of a person. Emma couldn’t get over it.

A wildness and all the ways I could never be classy enough for pearls.

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.

“Look in my eyes. Do I look like someone who has heard this story?”

The wild-eyed horse was more a figure of nightmare than dream.

What counts in the long run is pleasure in conversation with each other.

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

Tobias Wolff

Sometimes in sunlight the scar shines, skin smooth and tight.

The lock surrendered, after a short struggle, to the poker.

A family altar stuffed with dead family hanging now above the TV.

He finds the note taped to the lid of the toilet: “There’s someone else.”