I swore to never forget him, to talk to him often, to keep him in my heart. Those were the oaths of children and careless drunks.
Danny is sitting on our stoop. His frown could draw blood.
Along the Cam, at the Jesus Lock, you take my hand. A sparrowhawk flies above us with its massive wingspan, making a terrible sound, keening, screaming. Your hand is warm. All of this time, it has been warm.
Whites Arrival Hospital Light – AR101 Doctor’s Coat – AR102 Swaddle – AR103 Midnight Feed – AR104 Nonna’s Smile – AR105 First Year Burp Cloth – FY201 First Tooth […]
“Letting go is impossible, I have decided. You never really let go, you just accept that what you had is gone. There is a difference.”
The first time he saw her she was standing across Lexington Avenue next to a soot-streaked snowbank. She was wearing purple mittens and a purple hat and a thigh-length camel’s […]
In Hangzhou, 200 miles away, he had seen big, new buildings. Or were they buildings new, big. Or buildings that equal new and big.
Nightmare, a perfect baby using its tongue, tracing the squares of the bathroom in absolute quietude of deepest, unbabymonitorable night.
The teacher tries to remember what it was called before. Something visceral, something disturbing in a necessary way.
We drive through the town with sidewalks paved with clamshells, the town where turkey vultures tear the guts of bloated cattle, the town of shrines to the dead, bristling with roadside crosses. This is our lesson: we must keep moving.