I think that poetry is perfect for women raising children, with just bits of time and such need to connect to other women out of the isolation of motherhood.

Witch Baby wanted to ask Ping how to find her Jah-Love angel. She knew Raphael was not him, even though Raphael had the right eyes and smile and name. She knew how he looked--the angel in her dream--but she didn't know how to find him. Should she roller-skate through the streets in the evenings when the streetlights flicker on? Should she stow away to Jamaica on a cruise ship and search for him in the rain forests and along the beaches? Would he come to her? Was he waiting, dreaming of her in the same way she waited and dreamed?

Magic can be found in stolen moments.

Each of us has a family tree full of stories inside of us, Dirk thought. Each of us has a story blossoming out of us.

In Mexico people wear hummingbird amulets around their necks to show they are searching for love. Here people pretend that they aren’t. Searching.

I was staring to learn how to forget the things that made me sad. It was like a charm you followed step-by-step, collecting and blending the ingredients, placing everything in its proper place, reciting the incantation. It was the magic of forgetting.

I didn't tell him that what I was most scared of, most haunted by, was something I didn't understand and could never run away from. It was myself.