motion, 8

I can't pass by bird of paradise plants without thinking of my grandmother's house. Those bright red beak-flowers, the funny spray of yellow petals, the pointy green fronds. They lined the driveway along the side of the house, against a vaguely brick-colored cinderblock wall. The wall that I loved to climb up and over, scraping … Continue reading motion, 8

where she was

across from the park that has hosted hundreds of our family gatherings birthday cakes and boardgames rollerblades and skateboards the large, rectangular, boring 1970s building on the corner of warner and euclid is where i last saw her fifteen summers have passed since she drew her last breath on a hospital bed on the day … Continue reading where she was

in the photo

She sits in the chair, her back perfectly straight, forever. Her face is unsmiling. Eyes, dark pits. Lips resting against each other in a straight line, vaguely tinted red at the corners by betel nuts. I look at the photo with love and hate it at the same time. This is not the way I … Continue reading in the photo