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Bring back our girls.   Bring back our dresses untorn bring wind for them bring our barrettes and the pretties we wanted bring back our chalk and the flies with no secrets bring tear-splash on kerchieves of mothers bring solace

Quiet Candy

After you kicked me out, and moved Vicki in, I spilled my guts to the Armenian drug dealer at the Glendale Galleria. He told me he’d fix my Porsche, pay off my credit cards, keep me in cashmere and coke,


More dream now than memory, though memory is all it is: after an early dinner, I’m dropping them off at their cottage, beside the artificial pond in the retirement community she loves and he hates. Families of geese are crossing


This longing for him the choke in my throat again — enough, enough.   So I throw a coat over my shoulders close the door behind me, quietly,   as if afraid to wake another ache. Almost dawn. It’ll seep