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In the truck’s bed, resting where a dog’s might—the dead deer’s head.

They caught those few of us left unclaimed by the one emotion, or the other.

In exchange for our labor, we would each be given a new set of clothes.

I don’t think I was very frightened. I was simply hungry for home.

When I cried the tears felt so ineffective next to the ocean.

I saw Les gazing up at me. And that’s when I made my mistake.

He tossed her over his head like a ballerina, one rough hand on each hip.

Judging beauty, which is keenest, Eye or heart or mind or penis?

Her lips had the scent of the first kiss, and a thirst for justice.

You can always tell the military folk by their even stance, their steady gaze.

I told kids I didn’t feel a thing there anymore, but it was a lie.

“Rev. MacLean’s been stabbed in Oban,” his wife said, her voice thin.

A body must learn again how to accept the proprietorial hands of a lover.

“Some men’re like that. They have to see what they’re missing.”

Lust was just a frenzy of activity that had mostly led Benny in circles.

Jennifer Egan’s A Visit From the Goon Squad wins Pulitzer Prize.

Time stops as the ball rolls tantalizingly around the rim.

Hands that have waved farewell, sooner or later I will see them again.

You know how good she has always been at hiding herself.

The mirror will flow and the heart will set like glass in the frame of his bones.

My husband screws around. Not much and not often, but I know.

This is what he must have felt when she told him about her affair.

I went for a natural, “I look pretty even when I’m giving birth,” look.

I’ve sinned. Cannot be saved. He was a child. Surely he went to heaven.

With no words to speak about our love, we’re each one more alone.

I have three girls from my previous marriages, but she beats them all.

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the page, are letters up to no good.

It’s all that I have left of “the old country,” as my mother calls it.

Below, the kiss silently maneuvers our bodies closer to the rose bed.

I think you might have turned into a novelist, if we’d been allowed to go on.