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

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

Throwing the El Camino into drive, he roared down the mountain road.

1908. The puppet’s name is Sambo. Oh what a friendly boy he looks to be!

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

When I was born I saw death devour the birth of something.

Like a bird with a broken wing I will smudge the line of the hopscotch.

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

Outside the kids play stretcher. One of them was dying between my hands.

Sing to your sisters in the water, let your arms and lashes flutter.

Kids were just let out of school to spend the summer running in packs.

I measured your breath with my breath, your foot with my thumb.

You have to be three times better than the white kids, at everything.

If he was cheating on her, he was cheating on her paintings as well.

The sex in these fantasies was always a product of love.

there was a boy made of bad teeth & a boy made of stale bread

Sex is the closest we can come to touching where touch resides.

The thumbnail spoke directly to the most excitable parts of himself.

I love you to distraction, she would say. I love you beyond love.

This is the worst moment of her life, maybe of anybody’s life, ever.

He’d been lost and tripping vividly on some speckled acid for days.

I try to get her to drink again. We were okay drunks, before Jesus.

The only person I’d seen naked was my mother the night she died.

He was living like a coyote, out on the margins. But then a letter came.

A six-word story written by eighth-grader Marlon Jiminez.

Barbra Nightingale

Out by the road was her son standing without a stitch of clothing.

They come to America and their child is shot down like a wild animal.

What did St. Teresa have in mind when she prayed to be released?

Perhaps he was not almost sixteen years old, but thirty-five and sick.