I don’t want fiction. What I want is truth. Or someone’s version of it.

A Country Doctor

A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.

A Dark and Empty Corner

Human language, Winston thought, was not adequate for spiritual union.

A Dream of Ease

I shoved them one by one, easy as pie yet with care, just shy of mercy.

A Final Conversation

I used bravado to protect myself when we lived in poverty.

A Happy Birthday

I wanted to ride this day down into night, to smooth the unreadable page.

A Place for Us

Our house sits alone out in the country, seven miles north of town.

A Summer in Between

In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.

A. Roolette? A. Roolette?

She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.

A. Roolette? A. Roolette?

She remembers that golden ocean, the promise of a whole new land.


We are going south where I know that my father is going to die.

Adventures of a Would-Be Filmmaker

Since I am in my seventies, it is now or never, and I know it.

All Good Here

Since his mother’s fall, Ali had been stopping by every week to help out.


If everyone’s lost on the roads, you might as well fly. Enjoy your life.

An Abstract of My Research

For one hundred years I followed old people to learn what I was in for.

Another Decade, Another Mouth

she was sixteen, and swimming. she was seventy-one, and soft.

At the Wrong Time, to the Wrong People

I have given everything at the wrong time, to the wrong people.

B.F. and Me

Tobacco and dirty wool, rank alcoholic sweat. I liked him right away.


I lost my medicine bag from back when I believed in magic.

Beautiful Things

I was all alone in a little room, nothing but that big gun in my face.

Best Advice

I wanted from my father what I had never wanted or sought: his advice.

Betty of Lilyfield

A collection from San Franciscan photographers Eszter and David.

Between Here and Here

My father stood up, unable to choose which one of us to kill first.


My father was neither kind nor strong in his bruising.

Bruegel-Hunters in the Snow and Other Poems

I fell asleep wondering to whom the tree might have been writing.


“And if you ever tell anybody what I’m about to tell you, I’ll deny it.”

Byron the Lyron

Byron’s mother read things to him: Language is fun. Play. Let’s play.

Cartoon Art Volume 2009-07

Liza Donnelly

Cartoon Art Volume 2009-10

“Stop looking at women’s magazines and call me in the morning.”

Cartoon Art Volume 2009-11

He’s become insufferable since that MacArthur fellowship.