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His beginnings, his genesis as a writer, and the fateful connections between life and art.

She wondered if tomorrow would fill her with so strange a stirring.

Cold metal stands upon my brow; Spiders seek my heart.

He didn’t come to arrive, he came to go, and yet that didn’t matter.

The mistake you make with this man is, you wait around for him.

Please look away from Mars dangling so angry in so much darkness.

Tana Wozcjuk

Close mist around window. I attempt gender. Deposit each letter.

Anne Marie Rooney

She holds the shirt to her face and inhales. With a start she pulls away.

What we know of love between species we learn from the bones.

The human heart is far more intricate than any single term can describe.

Home, I thought. This was the new country I had been yearning for.

I couldn’t wait. By the time you return it would’ve rotted on the vine.

“Why, Ma? I don’t understand. I just don’t want you to be alone.”

O Fatima if only you would lean my way my heart would quiver.

Anne Marie Rooney

I take Saturday’s unpopulated trains, since there is no safety in numbers.

Here we were, seventeen, trapped by the sheer number of bodies.

Writing at night just feels . . . sneaky. There’s an outlaw quality to it.

My door overlooks a jade stream, the stillness of dawn drives cares away.

To be married is to learn to love, captive in your own new country.

Now all I was, all I had ever been, when it came down to it, was a tenant.

“Feathered Cup” by Shangyang Fang. A complete poem in a single screen.

If someone looked into his eyes they would see how ugly his mind was.

There, in the courtyard, a man might sit and call himself your friend.

Because I am lonely, I am always shying away from the mirror.

Ann Beattie in a wonderful reading of her story “Find and Replace."

I’d have guessed the winter this way, every bitter plum already singing.