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My mother’s disease wants / to know my name. // My mother’s disease takes / me in // with my mother’s eyes.
June 2024he used the Amazonian jujitsu death / grip to choke out the pharmacist / who wouldn’t give him his heart medication / until tomorrow — which, he admits, is when / it’s actually scheduled for pickup.
December 2022— from “Estelle And Bob” | My father kneels at my mother’s grave / to ask her permission to go on match.com.
May 2020He needs more time to brake / so he drives slow. He needs / more time to read traffic signs / so he drives slow.
April 2020That this trip isn’t the stupidest thing he’ll ever do / That they won’t drive one mile before she asks, Where are we going? three times / That she’ll ask why can’t she drive anymore
October 2018For the fourth time my mother / asks, “How many children / do you have?” I’m beginning / to believe my answer, / “Two, Mom,” is wrong.
March 2017Has something we published moved you? Fired you up? Did we miss the mark? We’d love to hear about it.
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