In the mornings he pulled on the trousers of the day but could not choose between his corn belt and his bible belt.
She asked me, “do you like Miss Donne?
You’re both girls. But my dad says that’s okay.”
Les just sit togeddah, we talk story.
Bum by Aunty sing a song, but fo now goin talk story.
Bout a beudeeful girl who wen bump her hed, jus like you.
what if I can’t travel with
oh you know
He said he had never smelled ground as rich as where he planted the bugs, so he knew he had found our new home.
“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…
1 Poupette was no coquette, no French flirt. At seventeen she pedaled her velo from one end of Paris to the farther other, delivering news of the Résistance to the Résistance. Brave, yes. Foolish? Perhaps not— A pretty girl who…
When the last ship vanished into the sky, afterburners flickering briefly in the dense black cloud ceiling that shrouded our world, there were fires. There were more of us then, and we poured, angry, through the streets, a human pyroclastic…
What to do with this beauty, what to love of it—what almost to sigh and to sing and even groan, what beauty, this beauty all around
For once, we aren’t late. The kids keep asking me if we are, but I am able to assure them, we are fine, we’re right on time. I know this place. We just need to park in the big lot…