Sky, I look at you all the time but don't see you often enough. I'm sorry.
For three years now my grandfather has been dying in a little room pill by pill diaper by diaper spoon by spoon. He cannot walk. He cannot talk. He cannot breathe. Who can tell his sadness? Who can tell his rage? With what effrontery do we hold him by the nose open his mouth and … Continue reading Old Man
Three times a day, Manoli climbs up the gas pipe in the garden and leaps up to the first-floor balcony, where he mioaos at the window insistently until I open the door for him. Thus am I interrupted from my writing... Is he my cat or am I his human?