This is the story of a dying memoir, and how my sister died twice. Judith and I sat in my sister’s sunny garden outside San
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In another season, another world— that lost moment, we ran into nights of shudder and crucible, autumn and oceans—our love barely risen
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“Stick your finger in my butt,” I whispered to my wife, Lisa. She obliged. I cringed when she penetrated me and later, in refraction, I
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As just one pulled stitch in a sweater mars its facade, so the two of us snagged on your chronic fatigue but eventually learned to
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Cruel are those tears that slip, silently down without a sound, The most sorrowful noiseless scream, no solace to be found. Welling up from a
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He’d made a mistake in coming here. The taxi idled at the curb, one cylinder missing its spark and inciting an anxious, irregular chuff to
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Every Thursday, our geezer bus makes a run to a nearby megastore. I’m usually among the half-dozen or so Grandview Senior Living residents on board.
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When my wife left me, I kept looking for ways of retrieving her – in my mind, that is. Of course, this could only be
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I hold your waist as you transfer from wheelchair to toilet seat, pull down your wet pullup and pajama bottom, replace them with a dry
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