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Notes for the Infinite Child
(Black Chapel, Theater Gates, Serpentine, 2022) I can tell the infinite child by the leaves it leaves on tables weighted with small stones. It’s June, midday, the pavilion waits for an event, it has a...
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Mom’s Departure
I arrive in New Jersey after a red-eye flight from Los Angeles and join my dad at his house for a quick coffee. “Mom won’t be coming home from the hospital,” he says. “Not this time.” I’m shattered....
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Are There Ghosts in Your Chest
I grieve quietly in the small heat of this room Doomed to the failure of withering away I was born on a Tuesday While snow gently kissed the hospital Before I left home, my...
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Our—My
I. The woman at the other end of the phone asks whether I would like my husband to be buried with his wedding ring, and if so, offers to come by the house and pick it up. I hold the phone on my...
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Weight of the Dead
So many fallen from pandemic these sad years, with no time spared for kin to contemplate, and those who didn’t like their earthly life and cut it off, those who bled, grew white and wizened, bent and...
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Infrared View of Old Saints Rest Cemetery
The post Infrared View of Old Saints Rest Cemetery appeared first on Months To Years.
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Paradise
I like to remember my nana in the back yard of her sprawling ranch in Jacksonville, Florida, watering and pruning the flowering plants and trees she’d surrounded herself with. In a magenta bathing...
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Home from School
Mothers can tell from the twist and release of the knob and the silent sound of air pushed impatiently aside exactly who it is. That day, it was me. She was at the kitchen table writing, probably,...
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The Ambulance of Poetry
Funerary recess we were instructed to call this thing, our first time here a month ago, not “drawer” or “wall coffin” heavens no. It was the only time Dad got angry all month: I feel like I’m putting...
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The Problem House
“Mom, everything in here is broken.” “It is not. Why would you say something like that?” We’re yelling slightly to accommodate for Mom’s bad hearing and my foul mood. I’m struggling to get outside to...
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Hand-Me-Downs
I’m wearing my sister’s clothes Did she know we shared similar taste and wore the same size First hand-me-downs in sixty years I raided her closet while she was in hospice Her daughter said please...
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Material Witness
for Chris, Oct 31st, 2022 For the twenty-first anniversary of what might never have been, the gift is bench, neither metal nor wood alone but a fusion of both. A bench, presented to the dirt, affixed....
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A Visit to the Other City
I’ve recently been told about the novel Unterstadt, in which Croatian writer Ivana Šojat writes about returning to her hometown of Osijek after the Balkan Wars. She walks from the station, recalling...
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Singularity
If a machine is expected to be infallible, it cannot also be intelligent. There are several mathematical theorems which say almost exactly that. But these theorems say nothing about how much...
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The Last Flight: A Story of a Father and Son’s Journey
When my father was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer, I flew with my family to Houston for his treatment. The company he had spent his life building from a start-up into a national powerhouse...
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After My Child’s Death
Grief is my crown of thorns That only Sleep removes Awake the crown restores A Sovereignty I can’t refuse The post After My Child’s Death appeared first on Months To Years.
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Ice Cubes and Sunsets
At the ocean in Waldport, Oregon, in July of 2018, I met a woman in the vacation rental next door who invited me in for a glass of wine and to watch the sunset. I accepted. She said she vacationed...
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