There is little more inspirational than a writer who devotes her talents to the work of others.

I was twelve when my mother was born. Twelve or thereabouts. If I’d been older, I could have said things like I never wanted to be a daughter; I don’t have a filial bone in my body. Relatives could have tilted their heads at me, insisting I’d change my mind. But I was twelve so I said nothing. I had no relatives.

a few miles from the fallout zone. / You double-check the index card

Unripe morning / cut open too soon