I wonder if all living things need a self-portrait.
People bring unknowable baggage to their readings—and to the author herself.
Now I’m half the stoner I used to be, liquor-free, and he’s gone.
Even on the loveliest days, there’s a feeling like the poignancy of watching your toddler waddle across a summer lawn.
I want to go back to being a child, when I believed that protecting animals was something I could do.
