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He sat behind a desk sprawled with papers, hands interleaved before him as if by a mortician. He closed the door behind me, then steered me to a chair facing his desk. I figured he'd decided against recommending me, having found the poems and essays I'd sent him in advance dim-witted. I felt oafish…

My granny back in Tennessee was born with the web of a caul over her head like a wedding veil

But I rounded each corner believing rescue would show up. [...]

(What hurts so bad about youth isn't the actual butt whippings the world delivers. It's the stupid hopes playacting like certainties.)

no keloid scars from boiling water