I am Iris, I thought. Iris is me, and Iris is in the wrong lane.
I wanted to bring water into these places that are sterile or dry or drought-ridden.
Don’t worry, I said, you’re the sea, and it’s impossible for the sea to drown. There’s nothing big enough for you.
The hall closet candles are white, ten inches long, and shaped like penises.
That was the summer that Tim had a left hand full of broken bones.
He was from a generation for whom superstition and folklore were interwoven seamlessly into history.
Terrible things have happened. Your expertise is required to set right the unhinging of our world.
In the first half of 1981, it was just a few who died.
She knew how to read a newspaper article when she was five; now she cannot tell Chinese from hieroglyphics.
At night he could hear her rustling the curtain. He would whisper his questions to her.