“I am not obsessing.I am just sitting hereperforating this post-itwith a push-pin.”

“Think crucial hanging.Think crayon orange.There is one low, leaningheart-shaped globe leftand dearest, can youtell, I am tryingto love you less.”

“All night I dreamt of bonfires and burn piles and ghosts of men, and spirits behind those birds of flame. I cannot tell anymore when a door opens or closes, I can only hear the frame saying, Walk through.”

“I wanted to be a hummingbird. It made sense to long for rapid wings and the ability to hover always— to be Huitzilopochtli taming my snakes.Sometimes though, the thought exhausts me and I want to be a slow horse, a tennis shoe.”

“Maybe my limbs are mademostly for decoration,like the way I feel aboutpersimmons.”

“My mother’s psychic says, everyone essentially wantsthe same thing as everyone else, a sense of belonging, a coming home.”

“Here is my sacrifice: my hummingbird landing in a stranger’s palm.”