He was so damn good—/
had a look, cocky smile, a lock of hair/
loose across his forehead,/
dark eyes that could melt metal.
Thirteen Steps
These stairs have never been easy. Over the years in this house, all of my family, two legged and four, have had to learn to navigate them when we want to be together and when we want to be apart.
There Are No Roads That Lead Here
Childress is drinking the same whiskey pour he ordered an hour ago. He has maybe two a night, that’s it. He has a goatee even though no one has goatees anymore.