How much simpler and more satisfying was the company of men.
I needed a paycheck a lot more than I needed to be kissed.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
The guards ripped off Mara’s clothes, pinning her head against the wall.
The chocolate was old, dusty white, the way chocolate gets after many years.
She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.
There was something in her voice, some awful, enduring fire.
If he’d had that seat belt on, he would have been pinned inside.
“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.
Our life is fine as it is, she would say to him, and it seemed true.
The author reflects on a soldier‘s experience, in just six words.
Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.
From the flight deck Gray could see home, wherever that might be.
Since his mother’s fall, Ali had been stopping by every week to help out.
Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?
The first time I met you I fought your father in the driveway.
The old man drinks some more liquor and whacks down two trees.
Go came up with the idea that all things were part of a good conspiracy.
I was thinking sex, she was thinking sex, but neither of us made a move.
“It was not wartime sentiment that moved me to ask you here.”
He longed only for Claire’s strange seriousness, her silent focus.
Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.
It is our first time, both of ours. This sentence ends with hate myself.
He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.
Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.
Even before bills and rent and adultery—you don’t sleep well.
I had the tongue of an adder and my heart was black with rage and hate.
We are like a village here, separated from the rest of the world.
He was gentle and slow, like a blind man washing dishes.
Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.