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National Book Award authors

Foster Home

When we first saw Mary Miles, I will say that our hearts went out to her—you always seem to know, in the very first instant, when a person, particularly a child, is going to mean something special to you. Not that Mary Miles was a child exactly, being eleven years old.


Lost Creek

That shallow fast-running

  creek. White
rapids. The mud-colored
  water breaking
in anger brittle as


The Masquers

I am lying, you say hesitantly, tasting
the thin syllables, gauging their feathery weight
in the air: chill fine whining notes.


The Birthday Celebration

he day Yolande ran away from home, never to return— never to return to Bellefleur Manor—was also the day of Germaine's first birthday. But was there any connection between the two events. . . .?