“In my mind, I gave the woman gifts. I gave her a candle stub. I gave her a box of wooden kitchen matches. I gave her a cake of Lifebuoy soap. I gave her a ceilingful of glow-in-the-dark planets. I gave her a bald baby doll. I gave her a ripe fig, sweet as new wood, and a milkdrop from its stem. I gave her a peppermint puff. I gave her a bouquet of four roses. I gave her fat earthworms for her grave. I gave her a fish from Roebuck Lake, a vial of my sweat for it to swim in.” MindDarkFourPlanetsSweetBabyRoseFishesBoxesWoodsGravesFatsKitchenLakesSwimCakeSweatCandleStemSoapDollsRipePuffFigsBouquetsPeppermintGlow In The Dark Book:Music of the Swamp Source: Music of the Swamp
“I dreamed you a field of running horses, Selah. For you, Bianca, a balloon the size of the sky, my body a kite you can throw into the air.Pull me by string and horse.Tell me everything won't end in death. That everything doesn't end with February. Dead wildflowers wrapped around a crying baby's throat.I've slowed my heartbeat to three beats a minute. I've redrawn the clouds into birds, a fox chasing them into the mountains.I'm going to move my hand today.I vomit ice cubes.There's a ghost next to me.Get up, Dad.(Light Boxes)” EndsBodyHandsLightRunningTodayMovingThreeNextAirSkyMinutesCryFieldsBabyDadMountainBeatsBirdHorseCloudsSizeBoxesGhostGet UpIceStringsThroatFoxesChasingHeartbeatBalloonsFebruaryKitesCubesWildflowers Author:Shane Jones
“Let's say that when I was a little baby, and all my bones soft and malleable, I was put in a small Episcopal cruciform box and so took my shape. Then, when I broke out of the box, the way a baby chick escapes an egg, is it strange that I had the shape of a cross? Have you ever noticed that chickens are roughly egg-shaped?” WayLittlesStrangeBabyShapesCrossesBoxesBonesBrokeEggsChickensChicks Book:The Winter of our Discontent Source: The Winter of our Discontent
“If I had lady-spider legs, I would weave a sky where the stars lined up. Matresses would be tied down tight to their trucks, bodies would never crash through windshields. The moon would rise above the wine-dark sea and give babies only to maidens and musicians who had prayed long and hard. Lost girls wouldn't need compasses or maps. They would find gingerbread paths to lead them out of the forest and home again. They would never sleep in silver boxes with white velvet sheets, not until they were wrinkled-paper grandmas and ready for the trip.” IfsNeedsGivingLongHardHomeBodyWould BeGirlLostStarsDarkSleepWhitePathSeaSkyReadyBabyMoonPaperMusicianWineBoxesLegsForestsSilverMapsTiedCrashSheetsSpidersCompassTruckRise AboveGrandmaVelvetMaidensNever SleepGingerbreadLost Girl Author:Laurie Halse Anderson