Frank kept his face blank as he read the orders: Report to Berlin.
Our house sits alone out in the country, seven miles north of town.
My daughter’s favorite game is Holocaust. She’s quite inventive.
For all the stories they’d concocted, the real one electrified them.
Our life is fine as it is, she would say to him, and it seemed true.
I’m mourning in the armpits of a lover we once called a family friend.
Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?
When you are sixteen and sixty-five pounds, you are all shadows.
Desperately, children: I am in desperate need for desperate need.
He fell to the floor and begged the gods. The gods were silent.
I have given everything at the wrong time, to the wrong people.
Keely finally stops crying when they step outside. The shock of cold.
I commute to war five days a week in a station wagon the color of an egg.
They do good things for us, the bats. But we do not want them there.
His mouth hardens whenever their son’s name is mentioned.
I hate it here, but I’ll make the best of it, because that’s what mothers do.
Our lives are often shaped by small, seemingly trivial choices.
“Ten lo,” she says when you’ve finished. Have it.
My father stood up, unable to choose which one of us to kill first.
If they don’t give you a seat at the table, bring a folding chair.
Apparently this was something he had to tell her with his clothes on.
When we’re all together like this it feels like hope is a possibility.
On her wedding day Ellen accidently locked herself inside the pantry.
A boy who makes dinosaurs from blue clay, each one with three hearts.
The story doesn’t begin until the van breaks down, I always say.
I returned to Vietnam with a tape recorder to collect ca dao.
The mortician who painted our girl was not a somber-suited officiant.
“Mom, don’t you think the fucking racism is worse than my profanity?”
Don’t worry. I’ve performed this procedure hundreds of times.
New cartoon from Mick Stevens: “It’s hardly worth the trouble tonight.”