Kate Ryan

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.