Fires start in rainstorms, grandma told me once. Behold this tangle of thorns. The rose garden blooms by blood in the snow. Daffodils, the willing weeds. Roots on the waterworn cliffs, platonic pornography. I scoop mouthfuls of her words and fondly break into wilder sprints to boys my age with eager ears, embittered tongues, halos … More Grandma Told Me by Tom Garback