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.

Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn't appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.

It was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we'd read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.

We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.

The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.

I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.

You're the perfect girl', he said, rubbing his chin. 'You expect nothing.