Have I told you about this boy I’ve been dating? He’s never traveled out of the country. Doesn’t drive, doesn’t use email, cries when dogs die in movies. His hands are huge and hairy but he touches everything real gentle. He’s so sweet I almost can’t handle it. Sometimes, at night, we go sit on a curb in a parking lot and throw rocks and make out under a street light. Sometimes, in the morning, he smiles at me, and I think I’ll scratch his eyes out. Shove him in the chest with both hands and say, “What are you looking at? You wanna fight, fucker?”

Deer Legs

watching my father
string the soft spots
in deer legs

Hotel Monteleone

Later, she understood that there would be only money—and not all that much.


I swallowed it whole and a hedge burst from my breast, brambles grown thorny around my heart.