What I have learned as a farmer, I have learned also as a writer.
Some people see the man but not the light, the field but not the varnish.
I’m glad I shall only live in one century. Even if it’s the wrong one.
West Oakland was characterized by unemployment, poverty, and blight.
You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.
He didn’t mind, he insisted, that he loved her more than she loved him.
Somebody would be a lot happier if she were more like her mother.
Spanish men. They whispered and whistled. It made her jumpy.
We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.
I crouched just like my mother burying nail clippings to ward off curses.
My mother and I remained apart. My father came late to the party.
This is the woman who had shrunk so small, nobody could find her.
She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”
How do our lives disappear even while we’re in the midst of them?
She began to see the word, or traces of it, wherever she went.
Sister Barbara folded her arms like a forbearing husband.
He came into town with his big red pen and began revising us.
Who was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?
What’s the harm? Will you fight even the healing powers of love?
Ajax killed men
and then animals
thinking they were men.
I waited and waited, rethinking first sentences in my sleep.
My books, I can hardly read them, they make so much sense.
Bees kill wasps by gathering around and tightening in the middle.
Euclid stands in front of his lover’s door, open to the last hours of light.
His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.
The moon it is red, and the stars are fled but all the sky is a-burning.
Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.