Continue Reading ››
once the last air raid ended we gathered ourselves, looked left then entered the main road — the sun splicing heat into our skin. an old bus, like a rusty metal lunchbox, appeared, puttering at the speed of anguish. no passengers. from a distance, our march could have been mistaken for a bloated centipede — sluggish, out of place. we barreled along outwitting bombs ordained … Continue Reading ››
In my father’s final weeks he would collapse into a chair to catch his breath each time he crossed his kitchen. What work the lungs had left to do, a tumor pressed against the heart’s soft artery. Afterward, in Cabo Pulmo, where divers held their breath for centuries, grappling for mother of pearl, I heard the hiss of gills, that movement outward and inward, gasps of microbes … Continue Reading ››
It falls from my binder, cherry crayon streaks ripen in sun, LOVE RILEY— a valentine from my son, three weeks before he died, cutout paper once a tree, before its felling, and reduction to pulp. I pick up the heart, hold it like a seed I’ll save to grow an oak. I couldn’t answer his question, Mommy, does paper remember being a tree?