Certain things we just don’t want to know about until they’re real, to admit that a time comes when the only good parts left are all in the past, a time when we can no longer tread water, no longer put food to our own lips, no longer hobble to the bathroom on our own, no longer hold ourselves upright, no longer get into a car unassisted, no longer do any of the things that living requires without the need of someone else’s hands, without the need for someone to hold us up.

Featured Piece: Growth

I crisscross a cardigan over my chest / try to name the sound of a small boy / who can’t yet tie two words together

One MRI later and they were seated in front of another doctor with the most monotone voice Esme had ever heard, like he’d sanded away all the bumps and filled in all the divots until he had a nice flat surface on top of which he could slap the diagnosis of the day and send it down the patient’s throat as smoothly as possible.