In the places that call me out, I know I'll recover my wordless childhood trust in the largeness of life and its willingness to take me in.

He lifts her breasts, which fit perfectly into his hands, though he knows this is no promise that he gets to keep them. A million things you can't have will fit in a human hand.

Maybe life doesn't get any better than this, or any worse, and what we get is just what we're willing to find: small wonders, where they grow.

Mother could go for one year without food, but not one day without her lip sticks.

There were two things about Mama. One is she always expected the best out of me. And the other is that then no matter what I did, whatever I came home with, she acted like it was the moon I had just hung up in the sky and plugged in all the stars. Like I was that good.

If you ask me, when something extraordinary shows up in your life in the middle of the night, you give it a name and make it the best home you can.

This will be Great Mam's last spring. Her last June apples. Her last fresh roasting ears from the garden.