November 07, 2022
Did any of the first beasts resist their names? Did Adam grow weary of his endless task?
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November 04, 2022
Still, she remembers cradling that tiger of a beetle in their sunny, grassy backyard as the sounds of her parents arguing drove through the kitchen windows. She never saw such an insect again.
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September 26, 2022
His idea is for the train to go into the hills and slow in the woods, and for the boy who’s been lost in the woods to see it, board it, and for the train to go full steam ahead back to town to reunite the boy with his lonely and shaken father.
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September 23, 2022
Cal and I never figured out a system for who would tuck in behind the other as we approached other cyclists, always fumbled at the last minute with our brakes squealing and gears snagging, tires cutting zigzags across one another as we struggled for balance when moving so slowly, indecisively.
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September 21, 2022
I am thinking about the woman I met, a friend of a friend, who told me how her intestines were removed so her baby could be born.
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September 19, 2022
When she settles into her chair in a hush, the girl’s dress will ripple across the centerpiece like the tendrils of a jellyfish. She will furl the fabric tight around her legs as her cousins watch from above their bow ties.
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September 16, 2022
They drowned her. That’s what David Attenborough told me in his kind old man, British, storybook way. They drowned her, and that’s just what happens to females sometimes during mating season.
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September 14, 2022
Which is exactly the message your firstborn delivers in the cool blue gaze that sifts right through you: Not only are you not what you thought yourself to be; you are the very opposite of everything you thought you were.
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September 12, 2022
Ten years after the divorce, my mother had saved enough to put a down payment on the turn-of-the-century farmhouse. It is a work in progress, but it is ours.
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September 09, 2022
I lie with Marcia on my side, perfectly still. I want to be with her. I want to be one of her rules.
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April 26, 2022
I want to say I loved my father, but I can’t remember if it’s true.
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April 12, 2022
The Hour Instructing the Boy / How to Show His Mother Love Without Hurting Her or / Damaging the Tubing that Sustains Her. The Hour of Grading Papers / Without (Really) Reading Them, then the Hour of Justifying / This is Just Fine This Once.
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March 29, 2022
You’re obsessed, as your husband might say, and you realize it’s not about the color, silly, it’s how you feel to be exact about something, anything—a feeling, a place, or this color.
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February 01, 2022
My affair felt like the smaller transgression, a less-than sign as opposed to an equal to, but that wasn’t the sort of thing you talked about on the side of the road with dust rising like spirits in the heat, fathers rising from the depths of memory.
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January 25, 2022
She said nothing, placed a hand on his forearm. Already their spirits were shrinking, an unletting of birthday-bright balloons.
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January 18, 2022
I know now what it means to be full to bursting with eager limbs, tears, and milk. I know, too, what it means to stretch something open with my own fullness by way of desire.
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January 11, 2022
Without hesitation, he brings the cup to his fleshy lips, tipping it back, gulping audibly, his Adam’s apple moving like a mouse beneath a blanket. That nothing may be lost.
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January 04, 2022
Now you have a delicate moth clawing its way up your hand. Beneath it, stone fruit, ripe. You think of Persephone. You wonder how much of love ends in transaction, an exchange.
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December 21, 2021
Baking is precise and often pretty; cooking, more improvisational; I like them both and lose myself that way, which is a life skill and I recommend it.
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December 14, 2021
I wonder how overpowered you must be to separate electrons from atoms and twirl magnetic fields so high above yourself before snapping them back down until you’ve flared up a Hole of Darkness, like it’s the last spacetime-warping boss of an RPG.
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December 07, 2021
As Cindy bent over close to make the transfer, she sniffed as she always did. The hints were there, but no more than they always were, allusions emitted from his pores of another world.
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November 30, 2021
When we dream, the contours of our memories are rarely sharp.
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November 23, 2021
For my own boots, I’d sit on the floor, pull and heave until my boots came off, contorting my legs in ways that tired adults could not, or would not.
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November 16, 2021
I think about my mother in the garden hilling green beans, and I asked her if I could go on birth control, and she didn’t say anything, which meant “yes,” which meant “no,” which meant, “I’m hilling beans right now.
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November 09, 2021
she stood with a boot on a ladder that stretched up to nowhere, and with a turned head she looked back at us with blank eyes. It looked like she had decided to leave the earth.
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November 02, 2021
Nestled in, camouflaged, their points jauntily faced the sky, and I knew Glen was right: those boots could never be mine.
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October 26, 2021
Act 20 is grounded to this island in ways I am not. My taproot is rotting. Act 20 has a forest. I am jealous of a law.
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October 19, 2021
She lingered a while, then folded down into a silhouette, onto the metallic chair beside you.
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October 12, 2021
I am not my mother’s daughter. I am a poet. I ride a bicycle.
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October 05, 2021
In 1944, when my father was just a boy, his dog was sent away and my grandfather lied about it. Something about Sparky being “needed for the war” and special farms for training.
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September 24, 2021
That summer, our other brother stopped showering, and I began swallowing watermelon seeds so one would grow inside me
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September 24, 2021
During storms, we like to imagine we’re in a boat at sea, the only ones left alive. That’s when Joey becomes Joy.
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September 21, 2021
The flies struggle, but I persevere, and after what seems like forever, wings held tight against their bodies, the flies are sliding down the glass on streams of the liquid, like a fatal carnival ride.
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September 14, 2021
Like most things worth fearing, it was invisible, the danger
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August 31, 2021
perhaps it is i, not the garden, who has been asleep
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