“His shirt is rumpled. His fingers, long and slender, are stained yellow at the tips from smoking. His mind is always on something else. My mind is busy, too, reading every cue and signal, keeping track of all the things… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
“Blue water extends in rows of gentle ripples to a thin line of barely visible cottonwoods on the far side. The wind dies to a whisper and it's quiet, almost perfectly still except for the snap of grasshoppers leaping from the weeds. To the west the mountains rise suddenly, almost violently from the sandy brown of the plains, layered silhouettes… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share
“I adore my mother, but I fear for her. She seems helpless, caught in the vortex of my father's dark moods and unpredictable behavior. I try never to displease her. I love the scent of Juicy Fruit gum on her breath and the hint of Joy perfume on her neck, the crisp crinkle of her hair stiff with aerosol spray… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share
“Silence is an easy habit. But it doesn't come naturally. Silence has to be cultivated, enforced by implication and innuendo, looks and glances, hints… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
“I have always loved the many moods of the sky at Rocky Flats. Turquoise and teal in summer, fiery red at sunset, iron gray… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
“His shirt is rumpled. His fingers, long and slender, are stained yellow at the tips from smoking. His mind is always on something else.… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
“The body is an organ of memory, holding traces of all our experiences. The land, too, carries the burden of all its changes. To… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
“My family never talks about feelings, and we certainly never talk about plutonium. It's hard to take something seriously if you can't see it,… — Kristen Iversen Copy Share Image
