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She wonders if he will be all right. She assumes he has four-wheel drive.

West Oakland was characterized by unemployment, poverty, and blight.

Spanish men. They whispered and whistled. It made her jumpy.

Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.

My mother and I remained apart. My father came late to the party.

I was dusty, my ponytail all askew and the tips of my fingers ran red.

She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”

She began to see the word, or traces of it, wherever she went.

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.

By the time the sun was barely over the trees, they’d started burning.

Euclid stands in front of his lover’s door, open to the last hours of light.

Where my mom was wasn’t never far from the Myrtle Beach Days Inn.

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

The cat was looking at me with an intelligent expression. It knew.

There was a shout, then a shot fired. I pressed the shutter again and again.

“We’re not like other species,” you say, a novelist at night.

I’m recalling his socks, the inked initials, the splashes of blood.

I wanted my love to be everywhere, then love began to bite through me.

I have so many T-cells I’m afraid of forgetting their names.

Let’s walk down to the river, bless the paper boats and turn it all into wine.

Beyond her ampleness, he stands a small man vanquished.

You linger in the dimming aftermath, grayer and fainter than a breath.

Flesh is temporary, memory a tilting barn dismantled nail by nail.

My soul is simple; it doesn’t think. Something strange paces there now.

In my head at least, you thrive, you die in this mix of ghost and gone.

Condemned to an easy life balanced on the suffering in another land.