"One Night Less in Baghdad."

"Coming Back."

"The Man Walks In and Removes His Hat."

"Aurelia."

"Allá En La Fuente."

"María, María, María, María."

"Tinfoil Astronaut."

"Drowning Lessons."

"Rio Que Sale" & "Del Dicho Al Hecho"

"Of Cannibal."

"Pain Pays the Income of Each Precious Thing."

"The Peach Orchard."

"Cain."

"The Wee She-Dog."

"BOG – MIA – CID."

"Muybridge."

"Empire of Toes."

"Practice."

"El Hombre Caimán."

"Catching Moths."

"Rare Misprinted Scott Russell Sanders Postcard: Next best thing to 'Inverted Jenny'; essayist must have."

"Amor con Amor."

"Del Agua Mansa Me Libre Dios."

"Lo Que Quiere."

"Deal Amor Al Odio."

"Sonambula."

"Catalogue of Dead Birds."

"In Absentia: On Things Remembered and Forgotten."

"After The Colonel."

“The cats were poisoned seven days before my grandfather fell from the sky strapped to a faulty parachute. One, Niky, made it to my grandmother's feet, washing them with blood before collapsing. Yuri never came back.
Before the cats, though, it was the chickens. About a month earlier, a plague fell on them like a man out of a clear blue sky. One died, then another, and another, and another still, and in between feathers and pestilence my grandmother asked what it was that was killing them but no one knew, so more chickens died and then the colonel fell from his plane.”

"What I Know About Love."

“Her husband is long like a lecture and thin like Bible pages. He tried to tell me—but his toothless accent was too thick so I had to hear it from someone else–that he was an Argentinean soccer player once. He stood around as I dove headfirst into knees and shins belonging to boys with worn-out tennis shoes trying to score against my team. My arms wrapped around the ball like desperate lovers, and worn-out tennis shoes raced back into midfield.”

"Margarita Didn't Mind."

“She wore a white lace dress; a normal dress, I guess, for the occasion. I wonder who picked it. As I stood over the wooden box, it seemed to me that the dress had grown an unnatural extension, and it ate up her neck in sloppy stitches. The stale white dress was more alive than she was–hands stiffly bent over stomach and eyelids pulled over like the final bed sheets of the corpse. She doesn't look peaceful at all, sleeping there, I thought while I watched her encased in white silk, just very still and quiet, like the silence in hospitals or of angry parents.”