Rape Is A Crime Against Sleep And

To Describe Our Growing Up In The Lowcountry Of South Carolina, I Would Have To Take You To The Marsh On A Spring Day, Flush The Great Blue Heron From Its Silent Occupation, Scatter Marsh Hens As We Sink To Our Knees In Mud, Open An Oyster With A Pocketknife And Feed It To You From The Shell And Say, 'there. That Taste. That's The Taste Of My Childhood.'

Her Laughter Was A Shiny Thing, Like Pewter Flung High In The Air.

Love's Action. It Isn't Talk And It Never Has Been.

The Children Of Warriors In Our Country Learn The Grace And Caution That Come From A Permanent Sense Of Estrangement.

These Are The Quicksilver Moments Of My Childhood I Cannot Remember Entirely. Irresistible And Emblematic, I Can Recall Them Only In Fragments And Shivers Of The Heart.