my mind ran over scenes of Shesheeb seducing Margaret until I was a wagon dragged by the runaway horses of my jealousy.

Love. The black hook. The spear singing through the mind.

[On her and husband Michael Dorris:] We both have title collections. I think a title is like a magnet. It begins to draw these scraps of experience or conversation or memory to it. Eventually, it collects a book.

Right and wrong were shades of meaning, not sides of a coin.

The world tips away when we look into our children's faces.

Our tribe unraveled like a coarse rope, frayed at either end as the old and new among us were taken.

Hunger steals the memory