I am in here.
So I would hear out those lungs, The air split into nine levels, Some gift of tongues of the whistler In the invalid’s bed: my mother, Warbling all day to herself The thousand variations of one song; It is called Buckdancer’s Choice. For years, they have all been dying Out, the classic buck-and-wing men Of … Continue reading Buckdancer's Choice
Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?
I don’t have a lot of knowledge of my mother’s family. Oh sure, the basics: her sisters (3, and she was the youngest, by 20 minutes) and my resultant uncles and cousins, her parents’ names (I had to give those for the death certificate – did you know that the funeral home issues that?). But … Continue reading We are our stories.
Two weeks. It seems longer than that. Other peoples’ deaths warp time for the survivors, I think. I’d say “grief” instead of “death” but I have no idea if this is grief I feel. It’s nothing like I felt at my father’s death. I need a new definition. I need a word that means both … Continue reading definitions
