“I’ve seen too much writing lately that makes metaphors of hunger.”

“Can you see the brushstrokes? Do you want to touch them? Do you want to lick the paint?”

You’ve never been a woman. You’ve been inside a woman, but you’ve never been a woman with something inside of her. You are inside of me. You marvel at the shape of my bladder.

The shamelessness pained me the most in the sauna. With a few exceptions, their butts were naked against the towels on the wood. Saggy or perky.

They were at that point in their marriage when she no longer asked him to zip her up—certainly not the zipper to the dress she’d chosen in defiance of his suggestions. She hadn’t asked his opinion about the hat she’d decided to purchase either.