“My husband is calling me from somewhere upstairs. It sounds as if he is in a hallway. I get interested in my own breath, which doesn’t happen very often. The curtain moves, and I like the way it matches something inside me. But I know that a curtain shouldn’t match me, and that I shouldn’t like it.”
— Amina Cain, from “The Sleeve of My Coat,” Creature (via lifeinpoetry)












