You may not remember the time you let me go first. Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn't that far to go. Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up. You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you: Today, no matter what it takes, we ride home together.

I don't blame you for everything, she told me. Just the stuff my friends & I can agree on.

If there is any secret to this life I live, this is it: the sound of what cannot be seen sings within everything that can & there is nothing more to it than that.

I've read a lot of books, so I know bunches of stuff that sounds like it could be true.

There are lives I can imagine without children but none of them have the same laughter & noise.

I've always like the time before dawn because there's no one around to remind me who I'm supposed to be, so it's easier to remember who I am.

My grandma used to plant tomato seedlings in tin cans from tomato sauce & puree & crushed tomatoes she got from the Italian restaurant by her house, but she always soaked the labels off first. I don't want them to be anxious about the future, she said. It's not healthy.