I could not imagine the dark well of her grief. I wanted to pretend it had nothing to do with me. But I felt compelled to bear witness somehow.
so long to call back
the first time the phone
rang i was beneath a
bridge when you rang
again the roar of cars and
cargo... more
“When Zac started writing the poems, I didn’t think it would get to this.”
In the book Les Misérables, it is not raining while Eponine dies. She is simply bleeding so much that she believes it is raining. So saturated in blood that her brain belies reason.
Two thousand nine is the centennial year of Malcolm Lowry, the British novelist and poet, whose extraordinary novel Under the Volcano appeared in 1947. Lowry’s first version of it was a loosely constructed story about Britons who witness a violent crime in Mexico.
What stands out in my memory now is the silence in that barn.
I can see him weakening, even if he can’t.
If Clubber Lang just chilled out, he would’ve been in Rocky’s corner, too.
Privacy, he called it, in my house full of men. Otherwise: quarantine.
“Foresee this, I did not,” Yoda commiserated. But he knew what he had to do. He just didn’t know if he could do it.
People are always saying...
Marlon, breath puffing out in the cool morning air, says to no one that if the students cry, he will cry too. This isn’t a process you want to see again through new eyes.
Here come the ones who chose / the second option...
You would have believed on the screen was where my attention stayed.
Recently, I told my mother that I used to climb out of the bathroom window in the upstairs and crawl out onto the chimney ledge, where one slip of the ankle, knee, wrist, and I would have fallen three stories onto cement. Perhaps it began as another peace offering—I was trying to amuse her.
I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m trying to tell you something.
You didn't ask for it then. You're not asking for it now.
There was no way you could have a pair of Nikes and get clowned.
Mississippi Man and I been dating for a few months now and we ain’t said it yet.
There was a yearning in me for her soft whiteness, which went powdery pink in her most private of places.
I want to be remembered like this: taut...
