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The girl I was could not have imagined the woman I grew up to become.

“It means,” Stoner said again, and could not finish what he had begun.

Weird that yellow’s the color of cowardice when the sun never runs.

No one is dead, but you should come back. See what’s become of us.

It was half the Spanish he knew—stop, I have a shotgun.

No one perhaps has ever felt passionately towards a pencil.

This is a place where young girls are butchered in old-time songs.

What was she thinking, driving alone to see a man she’d never met?

I stuff cotton in my ears, bits of bird’s nest, anything to stop all that talk.

Cassandra blared Puccini and Eminem so she would not pray.

There was a fish. And then there was the consciousness of robots.

Jo had tossed every last wedding photo, wanted no recollection.

For the first two months of class, Toby did barely any writing at all.

The first time we were alone, I knew it before he even told me.

Put yourself in bad positions, they’ll remind us. Address your weaknesses.

She was thinking about what she would say when the time came.

If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you time is a language I don’t speak.

Window widows we were once, like lonely oil spilled on sullied beaches.

I thought that proved he blamed me. I thought they all did.

“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Talinda would have said. If she had known.

I grip the handlebar and pin my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable crash.

From the roof, my husband observed daily a man and a woman having sex.

She pulls quickly on her cigarette and blows it at me through the phone.

I want to dispute that depression is by definition pathological.

The ego with which we began filters away as love accumulates below.

we are saying thank you in doorways and in the backs of cars

I was once very brave. Once I was very brave. I was very brave once.