I Do Have A Really Good Memory.

I Kept The Fingers Of My Left Hand Crossed All The Time, While On My Right-hand Fingers I Counted Anything At All—steps To The Refrigerator, Seconds On The Clock, Words In A Sentence—to Keep My Head Occupied. The Counting Felt Like Something To Hang On To, As If Finding The Right Numbers Might Somehow Crack The Code On Whatever System Ran The Slippery Universe We Were Moving Through.

A Pool Game Mixes Ritual With Geometry.

Mother’s Particular Devils Had Remained Mysterious To Me For Decades. So Had Her Past. Few Born Liars Ever Intentionally Embark In Truth’s Direction, Even Those Who Believe That Such A Journey Might Axiomatically Set Them Free.

I Think We Fall In Love And Become Adults And Become Citizens In A Way By Writing Stories About Ourselves.

Your Heart, Mary Karr, He'd Say. His Pen Touched My Sternum, And It Felt For All The World Like The Point Of A Dull Spear As He Said, Your Heart Knows What Your Head Don't. Or Won't.