This will be my final woodblock. Bleary colors squeezed from the operating room, flung desperately in odd angles. One last still life, frantically rendered
The photographer posed us in such perfect arrangements—oval, diamond, fan— rising up like ivy from the Doric column of my mother or hovering like
My father often said in his 70s and 80s that he wanted to go in water—floating out beyond the sightlines of our family