With Children The Clock Is Reset. We

Each Day She Removes A Small Portion Of The Unwanted Things In People's Lives, Though All Of It, She Thinks, Was Previously Wanted, Once Useful. She Feels The Sun Scorching The Back Of Her Neck. The Heat Is At Its Worst Now, The Rains Still A Few Months Away. The Task Satisfies Her. It Passes The Time.

I Wanted To Pull Away From The Things That Marked My Parents As Being Different.

In Fiction, Plenty Do The Job Of Conveying Information, Rousing Suspense, Painting Characters, Enabling Them To Speak. But Only Certain Sentences Breathe And Shift About, Like Live Matter In Soil.

War Will Bring The Revolution; Revolution Will Stop The War.

A Lot Of My Upbringing Was About Denying Or Fretting Or Evading.