When You Write My Eulogy
Don’t mention my divorce or deferred adolescence but apologize
for the times I was a lousy parent.
Don’t mention my divorce or deferred adolescence but apologize
for the times I was a lousy parent.
He’s tired of feeling like a criminal. He’s tired of being in a country that needed him, needed his people, but didn’t want their kind.
I am | the Other Side of the story, the face | from a picture book | whose title | you cannot | pronounce: | In another life | I forged with you across continents,
Animals move—it’s our birthright, a gift from ancient ancestors in the form of genes that could eventually code for leg or wing or fin.
The boat stares back with many eyes. Some closed in prayer, others close to fainting. A few people imagine childhood homes or hold photos of a small Italian port. Some cry. Some are confused.
I do know that slowly, my own heart healed as patients and families invited me into the special intimacy of illness.
The roots of a dysfunctional family are deeper than unhealthy thinking; they are steel wire cords.
You were special, hard… but so are gems. You were a shard of glass embedded under my skin.
A decade and two years of prairie farming. His hands touching her limp silhouette; Laid in the comfort of her bed.