Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.
AIMEE BENDERListen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.
AIMEE BENDERI want to be violated by insight.
AIMEE BENDERSometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
AIMEE BENDERWe’re all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there’s too much thought and not enough heart.
AIMEE BENDERYou can ruin anything if you focus at it.
AIMEE BENDERMy eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
AIMEE BENDERThere’s a gift in your lap and it’s beautifully wrapped and it’s not your birthday.
AIMEE BENDERand I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it’s giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.
AIMEE BENDERIt seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
AIMEE BENDERIt was a fleeting statement, one I didn’t think she’d hold on to; after all, she had birthed us alone, diapered and fed us, helped us with homework, kissed and hugged us, poured her love into us.
AIMEE BENDERLight is good company, when alone; I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.
AIMEE BENDERI was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
AIMEE BENDERThe writing I tend to think of as ‘good’ is good because it’s mysterious.
AIMEE BENDERBut the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
AIMEE BENDERI admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.
AIMEE BENDERThe wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
AIMEE BENDER