Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.

Power travels in the bloodlines, handed out before birth.

There is a legacy of violence against native women that has gotten worse and worse over time.

Your life feels different on you, once you greet death and understand your heart's position.

When every inch of the world is known, sleep may be the only wilderness that we have left.

I did not choose solitude. Who would? It came on me like a kind of vocation, demanding an effort that married women can't picture.

We passed over in a sweep of sorrow that would persist into our small forever. We just keep going.