Poetry
… who soloed before the congregation each Christmas Eve: O Holy Night, stars above shining and to this day I think certain angels too were blinking
Kristen (my to-be bride) Peil (daughter to Loren and Annie) called me atwork (a vacated dental office complete with circular carpet stain in the chair space).
They stood, stopped, still and blinking. Stunned, breathing and blinking, returned against odds to the sweet, sweet world— wild grass, wide air, and the sun like a mother. They were stunned
She simply settled down in one piece right where she was,in the sand of a long-vanished lake edge or stream—and died. —Donald C. Johanson, paleoanthropologist
... They had to name, they had to remember, or things would not be named and remembered if they did not do it. — Carlos Fuentes
When I go to the grocery store and stand in front of the shelf filled with jars of honey every brand spells the word Mama early morning toast sliced from a loaf of homemade bread spread with honey
He was from overalls, from Plug tobacca and ploughshares. He was from the hand-sawn, sixteen-penny house, Small and warm, and with unlocked doors. He was from the willow tree, honey-suckle and sandstone,
You are the long hour before the alarm and endless stream of infomercials, the hour I learned cross-stitching and finally finished Moby-Dick.
In a haze, she sees her dead child stand beside her iron bed, linked to her by a tube; in the same instant, Frida feels her heart lifted from her, ticking and dripping, still attached
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