1 The worst has happened The first time I speak my identity without anyone saying it for me (lesbian)

Daddy phase The eyeshadow my mother bought me dried up on my bedroom dresser while Daddy taught me to shoot a .38 special in the backyard, never too cliché for Louisiana blood.

1 Tropical Depressions Don't think about the roof on your house or the tantrum of cloud-scarred sky

Hurricane Katrina To love life, love it even when you have no stomach for it and grief's tropical storm thickens the air, heavy like the air in New Orleans fit for gills more than lungs;

Ana The black curls just like her mother's clump the floor, winding and shriveling on stone when I brush her hair.

2 Who hurt you, Mrs Gill? The scars on her wrists flash in the white light of the supermarket.

3 Ash After we kiss, my mouth lingers with stardust and ash.

1 Bruise The first time we stripped, she threw the clothes in a pile like she'd done it a hundred times. After, she admitted that nerves almost made her throw up, so she'd swallowed a couple shots to relax her shaking hands. One day, digging around her drawers for her lost wallet, I found Xanax in an Altoids tin atop her Bible.

1 Lost My dear, you are always going to be finding... You'll find yourself in your mother's arms, her hands in your hair as she begs you to tell her what's wrong. You will find the scale in her bathroom and wonder if your boyfriend would love you again if the numbers said something different, something even less than the blond, less than any other girl in your school...

1 Love and War in Mississippi Before our fingers touch, we'll glance over our shoulders, check that no one walks close enough behind us to notice. A six-foot man in a suit turns a corner and our hands slip to our sides, we fix our eyes everywhere else around him and carry on the conversation as if nothing had happened. As if we did not wonder whether he had glimpsed it at all...