A Even my mother couldn’t utter the word the night she told me they found something on her liver. It might be nothing too, I remember she told me, trying to keep it light. She worried I might be upset. Or possibly hoped I would be, so […]
Water we cross over. Water we forget. Water we throw on fire without regret. Water we step into. Water we skip stones over. Water we make steam. Water hard as salt. Water slipping blades between slabs of sandstone, shale, and slate. Water you are made of, mother. Water […]
The oxygen machine trembles, clicks, hisses. Through clear green tubes running into the bedroom, up to her face. I hope she’s fallen back to sleep without me there snoring in her old bed while she’s nearby in the new hospital one that raises and lowers. To leave her […]
“I called because of the tornados. I was worried about your power cutting out and you unable to breathe.” Everything’s fine, my mother says. Except I shat myself today. I can’t believe it. “Well, if a tornado were screaming toward me I’d shit myself too.” Which makes her laugh […]