Halfway Down the Block, Your Father
Stops. It’s just congestion, he says. I have congestion, not naming it— his lungs as gauzy as a party dress— […]
Stops. It’s just congestion, he says. I have congestion, not naming it— his lungs as gauzy as a party dress— […]
I was small and half-believed I could disappear just by closing my eyes—no, I wished for it fervently: that my
After the hospital released me with a warning, I walked around this busy city that hadn’t noticed I’d been missing,
don’t you think it is bad how I wake up craving my phone with thoughts of my lover before longing
I fell in love with an historian once. It made sense on paper. But we all know what history does
To fritter loneliness, my grandfather chews his sticks of cigarettes and finds company among the boulders at our veranda, hitting