I have been cut in two.

I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.

I lay there silently, hoarding my small dignity. I did not ask about the gate or the closet. I did not question the bedtime ritual where, on the cold bathroom tiles, I was spread out daily and examined for flaws. I did not know that my bones, those solids, those pieces of sculpture would not splinter.

I think it will be a miracle if I don't someday end up killing myself.

...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.

Mood can be as important as sense.

Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.