Even confession needs some transformation to make it work, I believe—you save yourself not by repeating the facts but by playing with them, by introducing the imaginary into the actual wherever it is needed, so that your writing expresses not only an outer truth but what, for lack of a better phrase, I’m going to have to call an inner truth.
If I am to be witch, then so be it, I said. And I took to eating black things — huitlacoche, the corn mushroom, coffee, dark chiles, the bruised part of fruit, the darkest, blackest things to make me hard and strong.
Sandra Cisneros, from “Eyes of Zapata,” Woman Hollering Creek (via lifeinpoetry)
I’m attracted to the idea of drowning. Or rather the idea of jumping off and being enveloped by something, not bad or good, just enveloping. When I was a kid, I had this moment when I got under the water, lying on the pool floor, and I felt I could breathe. I’ve been trying to recreate that feeling ever since.