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He cut down on beer and moved into the hotel that had my name.

“Hey, you look lost,” the hunter had said. “You better come with me.”

The boys searched for their father, lost somewhere in the Olympic Range.

Some people see the man but not the light, the field but not the varnish.

She wonders if he will be all right. She assumes he has four-wheel drive.

West Oakland was characterized by unemployment, poverty, and blight.

Spanish men. They whispered and whistled. It made her jumpy.

Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.

My mother and I remained apart. My father came late to the party.

I was dusty, my ponytail all askew and the tips of my fingers ran red.

She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”

She began to see the word, or traces of it, wherever she went.

Who was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?

What’s the harm? Will you fight even the healing powers of love?

Ajax killed men and then animals thinking they were men.

I waited and waited, rethinking first sentences in my sleep.

Euclid stands in front of his lover’s door, open to the last hours of light.

Where my mom was wasn’t never far from the Myrtle Beach Days Inn.

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

The cat was looking at me with an intelligent expression. It knew.

There was a shout, then a shot fired. I pressed the shutter again and again.

“We’re not like other species,” you say, a novelist at night.

I’m recalling his socks, the inked initials, the splashes of blood.

“Leaving for war, Hayes wept. He didn’t just cry; he wept...”

If life was exchanged, who is to say it flowed one way?

She commands, under her breath, You must be the son.

Think how you move, how a room changes with your smallest breath.

Arrows shot by the halt at the lame,
 Opinions come and go just the same.


My mother is queen of buttons. She shows off the prized ones.