"If I were to even write it today, it would be a very different book. It might be better in some ways, but it would be probably less emotionally true to how I was feeling."

“Writing poetry has trained my eye and ear to look and listen to my day with deep attention.”

“She’s hot as velvet”

Maybe I’m still working from a place of collective composition toward a singular voice, trying to derive one true chord from that old cacophony. The steel strings went slack—too much tension over too much time.

“Every day is an offering, and I am giving bits of myself to you. I am overcome with a sudden grief.”

“That’s how oracle cards work, she told me, they guide you where you need to go. I don’t believe in anything, but I’d like to.”