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Some women have all the tit out hip out flat of the hand & tone of voice.

I walk and I rest while the eyes of my dead look through my own.

Black wings thrash in trees, then strafe me low, my head their devil.

I felt that this maternal oblivion could be the rest of my life.

Meghan Dunn

In time the squirrel who was my friend is my friend no longer.

It was as if my dead husband was flowing within me now, like blood.

He was nervous and ill at ease, but my bearing seemed to reassure him.

If there was any magic in his sad life, it happened on that day.

“I can’t die, I don’t want to die, I love life,” Prince Andrei thought.

You and me is as good as anybody else, and maybe a damn sight better.

In the truck’s bed, resting where a dog’s might—the dead deer’s head.

You don’t feel anything when they cut you, not at first, just the blood.

I can’t see a way out of this. Things will not necessarily get better.

He studies their mannerisms, looking for clues to the psycho spirit.

They caught those few of us left unclaimed by the one emotion, or the other.

In exchange for our labor, we would each be given a new set of clothes.

I don’t think I was very frightened. I was simply hungry for home.

Some people you come across you come to love. He was one of them.

When I saw her, I was witness and weapon both, charging at her.

Each harbored a sense that a family of three was not a real family.

More and more whiskey was required to knock out the elephant.

He thinks with joy and conviction that the Japanese are his enemy.

This itchy voice, this desperate chant, that begs: okay. Okay.

He tossed her over his head like a ballerina, one rough hand on each hip.

The caved-in storefront looked as if a missile had slammed into it.

Her lips had the scent of the first kiss, and a thirst for justice.

I told kids I didn’t feel a thing there anymore, but it was a lie.

Half the women around here have a husband in some kind of fix.

A body must learn again how to accept the proprietorial hands of a lover.