How a mother could be so? Why when she’s in the same room with me I feel swallowed up by a heavy coat pulling me down?
The 84-year-old woman across the table from me describes a couple who has chosen to be buried in coffins stacked on top of each other in one grave.
The man clutches at his stomach as the attendants wrestle him into a straitjacket. By the time they manage to sedate him, the waiting room brims with new patients.
We had sex, he took my blood. Positive ions, positive feedback loops. The cycle perpetuates itself.
I’m in California now, where bees die in the light. Where everybody dies first, then lives forever.
I look at the baby doll abandoned on the floor next to its ripped box, its unblinking blue eyes staring back at me. One of its fat cloth legs has been ripped off in the fight.
Tamberlyn fell on the pavement, hard. Her body slapped against it. It sounded like someone dropped a lot of meat.