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My father was at an awful disadvantage in a sport where cunning is a virtue.

It was a Tuesday, so they made love. She thought it was a fair compromise.

Sometimes the phone would ring and ring, and I’d go answer. It was him.

“I have always had a gift of feeling what is in other people’s hearts.”

The woman who is known only through a man is known wrong.

Everyone is talking about the end of the world. Why now? Why today?

No one answered. I turned to his parents. My stomach felt on fire.

He grew a forest of candles and cried when it succumbed to wildfire.

That day he stood on some threshold and paused and wept at his choice.

There is a baby in the square, plumped down on Papa’s thigh.

It comes as no surprise that everything is flying toward one point.

It’s a mistake to be here, he thinks, but he doesn’t turn around.

Gramps’ will was a fifty-year diary, all jammed onto two sheets.

When I meet his gaze, he’s frowning, a hint of anger flashing in his eyes. When saw the fury in his eyes, I thought he was going to kill him.

We were hurtling close to a hundred miles an hour through the dark.

This poem weaves human and earthly hurt together in just a few short lines.

“I suppose there have been a good many men killed in this room.”

The trees were a sign from the devil, a warning of the terror to come.

“Look down,” I said, comb in hand. “Let me check behind your ears.”

He held a screwdriver to the fleshy underside of Peggy’s neck.

He was staring at his car like you might a stare at a dog.

This is not America! It is not the America I grew up in, it’s
a joke.

I am drawn to these victims because I was there the night they were killed.

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

“Ki-Tae the famous pastor,” Jae says to her. “Can you believe life.”

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

Our remarks must be tempered by a sense of cooperation.

Don’t tell him you’re a virgin, says Peggy. You’ll freak him out.