“One of us remembers the honeyed ink / in the waiting womb…”

“I’d hear this man’s footsteps above me when in bed, trying to trap the sound of his feet with my eyes…”

“for her daughters to release her / into the river of her choosing”

“…I can see it’s a black, shrunken stick about ten feet high, stripped of the bark I once ran my fingers over.”

“At its core, the madness memoir is an effort to impose a literary structure on an inherently disorganized condition.”

“I remember the sun was high in the sky and the clearing held a holy quiet, like no human feet had ever marred its face. So, of course I followed.”