The woman who smells like wellwater will hear the sight of sun’s spread across dusty glass, the spread of warmth up the insides of raised arms, the rumble of low sounds made by the husband, the sight of the sun itself—and she will know from her own memory the tree through which the sun must have fallen, though in her mind the room as always belonged to the boy.
Ted Sanders’s “Obit” (in No Animals We Could Name)
He should start thinking about people he actually wants to see except that he can’t think of anyone he really wants to see. Nobody he knows in person anyhow. He wouldn’t mind seeing Willow the French Canadian porn star. He wouldn’t mind seeing Captain Kydd the pirate so he could ask him about the buried treasure.
Russell Banks’s Lost Memory of Skin