Already, through the hall to take a piss, I look for miracles. Unusual spiderwebs, books in the shelf that seem slightly askew. The radio is on— is that you? You’d…

Two milligrams of morphine was enough, weak as he was, his mind already gone, breath like a rusty shovel in the loam that caked his lungs. He wasn’t coming home.…

Seeing what kills your parents. What whittles them down like a pencil. What can’t be stopped. What plucks away at their frayed strings. What they can’t eat. What brings them…

No brown ribbons for signet cell carcinoma. They haven’t issued them. When she laid on the couch, moaning through the night, I remember thinking when is our gift bag going…