Clinging, the kitchen remembers my world in black and white, damn the color.
I refuse to admit I am starved for refuge.
Mom-capped Mom. She's tired, slumped, surrounded by six little ones.
Everything we read, if we read it deeply enough, changes us.
The first sculpture that I made on my own was small and was carved from an old railroad tie.
How to Survive the Apocalypse is filled with strength and resilience.
So that one wrong class led me to the path of writing: poetry, story, novel, essays
Bees love catnip; they go crazy for it; afterward, we drowsed, full of honeyed sweetness like the bees that browse the catnip, it could be like catnip to us, and I remember the first time my Siamese kitten had catnip,…
In the plaza, he pirouettes, juggling, glittering mysteries.
This did not have to happen. No, none of this had to happen.