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you cut through brush with the iron edge you push before you

He loathed them most, despising their desire to get on with things.

The world beyond the windows slowly tips forward into spring.

The canary-yellow sweater she knit while pregnant with me thawed first.

A dangerous heat came from him, the heat of some interior decay.

three women came in their nakedness so i could choose from among them

The problem, as it turned out, is: Forever can be surprisingly short.

Stocking shelves, like serving, is a job that will not let go of your mind.

What is greater: the distance between these bodies, or their need?

He could not stop marveling at the velvet quality of
her skin.

The palm’s outline shimmied in the sunlight against the aqua curtain.

I saw the man for the first time in Budapest on the Széchenyi Bridge.

Rays burst from behind the mountain, sweep the broad beach.

Life has never been in remission or rehabilitation. Life doesn’t sing.

Claim to be Choctaw or Cherokee. Claim to be a princess too.

“I know I am disabled. Technically. But I don’t feel that way.”

Wake up drenched in sweat, with fatigue that reaches to your marrow.

Ask your mother about babies. Ask her about the baby that died.

You walk into your gramma’s kitchen only once for the last time.

I was free. The first step had been taken, and it was irrevocable.

On Saturdays I listen to folk music, lead a life devoted to exodus.

You’re certain that they’re harmless, benign as a flock of founding fathers.

I want my former costar Glenn Close to call me “charm personified.”

When I was a woman, I was all reason and my reason was unjust.

I give you a real blue song the mountains hold under their foot.

“The other kids. They’re making ice cream. I’ll show you, come on.”

Marie was Indian, and everything Indian required patience.

They met on the app in April, shortly after her twenty-ninth birthday.

“I want to stay in real yurts,” I said, “not yurts for Westerners.”