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This box is full of wires, energy that moves in ways I can hardly fathom.

I wondered if the coyotes and deer were mourning the loss of Steve.

The sounds of Africa exploded around the white men and women.

We know that we were lied to, the disaster was worse than we feared.

My wife fell in love with a dancer. A woman. I came here to get away.

She sips the coffee and thinks about throwing herself off the balcony.

The doctor said your life will never be the same before she said hello.

I reach in, blind hand finds what I’ve already seen, only one front foot.

Whitman may just mean: it is pretty cold, but there’s always colder.

she was right—hurricane being the name of the feeling, the twist of it.

We say America you are magnificent and we meant we are heartbroken.

Who cared about a whiff of male exertion and motor oil? Not Lana.

They believed that the American movie should be taken seriously.

The power to alter one’s life comes from a paragraph, a lone remark.

I’d done what no woman of my race and social station had ever done.

Sam was like family. He was the angel of my writing life in every word.

Jayne Anne Phillips recalls her friend, the legendary Sam Lawrence.

Barth looked after his students beyond anything expected of him.

In a few days the troops were to go further on. I left the next day.

Takis brought down the demons that would pursue him the rest of his life.

“This is no vacation,” I told friends and reluctant donors.

He drew on time, and space, he drew on his powers, and their sleep.

I never prayed before. Since this happened I’ve been praying every night.

I made him love me. To feel abandonment—again.

What a noise it must have made long ago. It’s not just me saying this.

I bought chips from the one open store, but can’t figure out how to eat them.

You know that sex isn’t everything. It’s time to get a move on.

My sister says, vicious as possible, “Don’t you dare try to protect me.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that we’re the same person,” she says.

The talk was heady, but the conversations were dead-ends.