−Hiroshima 1946 My mother When my hair began falling out, my mother got down on her knees and picked up one hair at a
Your thinning hair has the look of wishes. Even your skin is riddled with white space, a fiction. And your arms’ flesh-colored wash is
Tell everybody I’m still kicking and stomping, just not quite as high. Didn’t have much for lunch, had an avocado for breakfast. Ran a