I want to be violated by insight.

…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.

Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.

and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.

I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son; she is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.

I don't think so, I don't agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.

Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.