Grief and Memory
Last summer, I went to a birthday party for my girlfriend’s two-year-old niece. The whole family was there, blowing out candles, taking pictures, and eating cake. But while they were celebrating life, I was busy thinking about death. In between smiling for photos and making polite conversation
seven and serpentine
i’d recline on the green couch, on peeling patches of fabric held by white string. […]
in spite of everything, your hands
still in my hair still unscrewing the bottle of oil open still ringed with gold staining green your hands memorising the backs of my ears think of your hands folding sheets think of your hands cutting tomatoes i think of your hands smacking the comb against my temples when
