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She possessed a quality that made one forget all shortcomings.

Gerard sat in the shadow, watching his son steal about like a thief.

Play hero, sunburned protagonist, awake in our dream.

The sloshed grownups had little to say to me. I loved it that I was alien.

I wish I could tell him he’s not going to hell. It would be so freeing for him.

I am trying not to want to want to. Trying not to doing wall sits in the poetry room.

He tried to regain that moment of grace, but there was no conjuring it.

No matter how much money there is, it can always just drain away.

What I want is a woman who knows all the meanings of indulgence.

When I walked in, the kids applauded. They were like, “The poet’s back!”

Unnatural as a ghost; the thought rose unbidden to his mind.

What a good time we could have if we were happy to be who we are.

What right does an American mutt like me have to depict in fiction the lives of a Salvadoran family?

Brain an inkblot liquor stain until the heroine blinks the coma away.

The toes you step on today may be attached to the ass you kiss tomorrow.

I’ve never heard of Badgley Mischka (A person? Two people? Man?)

Like superstitious sports fans, we played the song night after night. Since giving birth I’d become hyperaware of death.

Her girlish hand the color of rich vanilla floating over the flotsam.

Kay Whitaker

My new car cost more than my dad’s first house; I Googled it.

Her knees seemed about to give way, and he quickly grabbed her elbow.

They rise in waves, while a lone hawk remains unperturbed.

Walking on Canal Street, I slipped on the curb and fell on my face.

All of those feelings—you do not have them, they have you.

These days, I am less of an irony detector and more of a lyrical drone.

He loathed them most, despising their desire to get on with things.

Brod stopped her before she could fling the latte in Marcella’s face.

The day was beyond the reach of words like tragic and hilarious.

Picture the thing you want most. True love? A new car? Let it go.