Sanguine
All animals have blood hearts Omnia animalia sanguine* corda All animals have blood in their hearts Sanguine is no longer meaty. We have squeezed out the blood. Lobbed off ventricles and arteries to leave just an outline <3 Our animal hearts once bloody / bloodthirsty now...
The Hawk Outside of the NICU
One morning, as we ate sandwiches—mine had apples on it—a hawk appeared outside the hospital cafeteria window. Or no, it was not a cafeteria, it was a cafe. Which was meant, perhaps, to conjure a sense of normalcy. You could order paninis and mochas and bowls of soup. My husband and I sat there talking...
In Chinese I Am Six Years Old
I know the sweet shape of sugar, tang, and the soft sweep of cat, mao. I know wo e le, I’m hungry; I know wo bu zhi dao, I don’t know. I know wo yao, I want; wei shen me, why; dui bu qi, I’m sorry. Last March, I learned the word ai zheng, cancer....
I Live Alone
According to the US census, more than one-quarter of older adults live alone, one out of five men and one out of three women Nearly half of women over 75 live by themselves. 1. I live alone. Husband dead. No kids. My dog can’t hear anymore. God is the only one left who might...
The Mathematics of Decay
In Tokyo, they measure death in hours. Nako’s began with stomach pains at a wedding reception—her own. The cake hadn’t been cut yet, but something else was already dividing inside her, multiplying with the precision of a cell gone wrong. Three hundred and twelve days from “I do” to “Time of death:” The numbers feel...
Rumpus Room
I’m nine. I stand behind a leather couch in the larger area of the daylight basement everyone calls the rumpus room. It’s Easter Sunday and cool and hazy outside but not enough so that my grandfather will need to ignite the fists of coal already mounded in the grate of the fireplace. Three of my...
Lebanese Eggs
Click here to jump to recipe. Otherwise, notice the tippy milk crates stacked two-high under your five-year-old feet, the white chef’s apron knotted behind your neck, draping down past your shoes, between you and the oven door of the ten-burner stove in your grandfather’s diner, the two flats of eggs, thirty to a flat, ready...
There Will Be Plenty of Time
Your mother won’t forget you right away. There will be plenty of time to prepare logistically and emotionally for this event. You’ll become accustomed to the usual symptoms over the course of months or years: forgetting appointments, tripping over the names of acquaintances, the first missed birthday. When she begins to fumble overlong with her...
Potshots
(after Hanif Abdurraqib) I remember guns were a private thing we only used at camp beginning with the potshots my cousins and I took at empty Miller Lite cans the white cans with the red emblem and the time David yelled at me after I discharged the lever action BB gun across the water because...
Night Owl
He switched the headlights off and urged her up, into the night air. “Go on. Stand up,” he said, pointing at the Toyota’s open moon roof. The car rolled slowly down a country road, somewhere deep in the valley of quakes. Soon enough she would be too old for this. “Really?” the little girl asked,...
Things I’ll Likely Forget
Yesterday, I couldn’t find my passport, not that I needed it, I wasn’t going anywhere, hadn’t gone anywhere in ages, not since my partner and I decided to pack up the house we’d lived in for ten years and move to another (smaller) house, in another (larger) city, with car alarms and sirens and helicopters...
other people’s mothers
I keep a catalogue, a mental inventory. There are mothers who paint portraits of cats dressed as Napoleon Bonaparte and mothers who fall asleep drunk on patterns for XXXL pajama pants, and mothers who mouth “fuck you” to their daughter in the backseat when they get lost in the family car and the daughter is...
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