Every bird is a metaphor; in the center of this country, in between rivers with native names, guilt waves her hand: a beauty-queen in a hometown parade.
Chòu Dòufu at Taiwan’s Shi Lin Night Market
I dreamed of tracing my fingers over the ridged edges of buttery Ritz crackers, of piling the neon yellow cheese and soft pink bologna into never-ending towers….
Angus & Annabel
This was the tree their mother had loved and named, decorated in the spring when she was still herself. The decorations were gone now—their father, in his anger and grief, had seen to it—but the thick tree still stood.