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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.

I remember a child’s fingers on his wrist as they traced the blue.

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.

Howie and Nadine were confident they’d be among the survivors.

My ups and downs never stop on the hump we call a hill behind the house.

Hearing the baby’s cry, Varka finds the enemy who is crushing her heart.

In school, he was called gook, chink, and one boy called him ching-chong.

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

A Midwestern man is never without his knife. Half of us carry guns.

I could shoot you and nobody would say boo. I’m within my rights.

They know whoever passes on the curving road just by the footstep.

My father left me in the car while he was grabbing one for the road.

For eight weeks no one heard my voice for eight weeks no one slept.

After four years of watching his body implode, we’re terrified.

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

Oklahoma, a state shaped like a pot, probably some gruel inside.

As a girl I was raised to sing along with the rest. To praise. Especially men.