Flesh in a porcelain finish—because breaking apart was

only the first step.

Death: a thrift store mirror, cracked in all the bright places.

Roadkill. How it talks back.

Question : Are we there yet?

Feel the wind coming in fours.

Listen to the seasons galloping. The hunters dropping

quail mid-flight.

Kneel if you’ll take me, lips flushed past open.

Kneel any... See more

Back home in Chicago, my parents grew old. I didn’t see this happening and neither did they. They were busy birdwatching, attending new plays, trying new restaurants. Our relationship had mellowed and warmed with time. But then my father, my sweet, strong, and only father—he began to die, and then he died. Words that still don’t sound true five yea... See more