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

Let’s span a time with each other. The mutual will give us pleasure.

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

I have wasted your childhood, photographed you too much.

Brassy bullets fell against the floral comforter like little candies.

My students are in rows, alive—day-picked apples cut by teeth.

I was always being left behind in the mud, a bandage around my eyes.

Maybe older Natives have more trauma than younger ones.

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

In Astoria, Leo and I find a small church on our way to the river.

A question will render in a throat before blowing out its socket.

Michelle dances on his forehead like an imp, like an illness in motion.

When we move together in the dark I can almost get to him but I turn back.

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

Tobias Wolff

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

Had he been a man, we could’ve saved his life right then and there.

What would you say about the driver of the truck that killed you?

Six-word stories about the the perplexities of love and desire.

On the swings in the park, a woman sounds an off-key minor chord.

I’m touched by kindness, I declare. That anyone wants me is a miracle.

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

You put his hand around your throat but he keeps moving it away.

On the other side of Paris an exhibit depicts their home, which is nowhere.

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.

Eyes wide open, I offer myself to a new boy and watch him grow.

“Dorm whores” his roommate calls them. They come for the booze.

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

He had dreamed of being a front-runner, someone who changed lives.