“--Your headache-- I am trying to imagine it Your head is in your hands The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate November again Too late Your headache It is a bird Wounded, in leaves Its sweet bird’s nest is… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share
“The letters, the fading. The labyrinth, the cake. The four hundred brackish lakes of the brain. She searches for the music, but she can't find it. Oh, God, it was here only the other day.” — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“The gum is so minty in my mouth as I chew it, I can hardly inhale. It's like inhaling the steam off a block… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
No one is going to hear what she says whether she speaks or not. Simply she could close her eyes and never speak again.… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“The first time I had sex with a man for money, it was September.” — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
your life can change in an instant. that instant can last forever. — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“--Your headache-- I am trying to imagine it Your head is in your hands The nurse is pouring pills onto a plate November again Too late Your headache It is a bird Wounded, in leaves Its sweet bird’s nest is full of pain in a distant place November There are daisies In the ruined garden, still blooming strangely And in… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share
“...but I could see how hard it would be for him to imagine the rest of his life, and where it would lead him...It would be like having a job in a fortune cookie factory, standing all day on an assembly line while optimism passed through your hands on flimsy strips of paper-"You will inherit a million dollars," "You will… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share
“She knelt at the side of my bed, kissed my cheek, and I woke, rubbed my eyes, looked up at her dreamily. The hall… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“Sometimes he'd write my mother's new name under his on a scrap of paper...then, the one that hurt her teeth to see, Mrs. Brock… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“The letters, the fading. The labyrinth, the cake. The four hundred brackish lakes of the brain. She searches for the music, but she can't… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“Behind him there's still the mirror…a bit of infinity, which in its disinterest still holds their reflections safely in it.” — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
“Home" It would take forever to get there but I would know it anywhere: My white horse grazing in my blossomy field. Its soft… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
Writing is really just a matter of writing a lot, writing consistently and having faith that you'll continue to get better and better. Sometimes,… — Laura Kasischke Copy Share Image
