for language's sake

Each was an answer to an unanswerable call.

On arriving at her door in the rain, a stranger with suitcase in tow, I was furnished with lunch before I learned it was her birthday.

its wicker finding new parts of my thighs in which it could dig.

One should be light like a bird, and not like a feather.

It’s holding my ambivalence in narrative.

a sudden vision, a pause to ponder, then a rush to get it all down.

More striking, and moving, is the alphabetically ordered, temporally disordered narration: ‘Grandma died. Grandma has been sick. Grandma is ailing still’. Death, after all, comes before life in the dictionary.