"My room is rural dark, back field dark, so dark I can read by the wan glow cast from the kitchen light through the crack under my bedroom door, the same dim radiance as this unhurried burn of inflammation..."
"In the beginning not yet sacred all is apropos. As I traverse a simple closed curve counterclockwise the interior is always on the left. I'll gaze in wonder only at that which I've gazed in wonder at ten times before."
"Says once she tripped that she was her own mother giving birth to herself. She was in labor for forty-eight hours and remembers every second of it: the bed of ice they laid her on as they tried to bring her fever down, the surgical lights spinning like saucers..."
"I’m different than other babies. Their gemstone eyes, chubby everythings, innate ability to wiggle. Me? I’m one legal-sized sheet of paper, blue lines barely visible..."
"She has given / over to the probability of loss, which is enough / to make one ask, How shall the heart be / reconciled from this feast? How shall it / remain intact to keep her going wherever she needs to go?"