1. Even parasites can be beautiful. [Sante Fe, NM, May 2010]

    Even parasites can be beautiful. [Sante Fe, NM, May 2010]

  2. What is the name of the girl, the lost relative, the one my mom always looks for when we take flowers to the cemetery? Lavinia? Roberta? Something with an “E”? Is she eight? Or twelve? Her headstone is forgotten, away and apart from the rest of the family - the ones who died before her, and the ones since. She’s not the one who burned up in the fire. That one lived. She is from longer ago. I used to see her as a wisp of angelic, long little-girl dresses and bare feet. Frail, fading, wasting away. This morning, though, I see her again: 12 years old, smiling over her double chins. Plain, and unfortunate, and also dead. Oh, Lavinia.

    What is the name of the girl, the lost relative, the one my mom always looks for when we take flowers to the cemetery? Lavinia? Roberta? Something with an “E”? Is she eight? Or twelve?

    Her headstone is forgotten, away and apart from the rest of the family - the ones who died before her, and the ones since. She’s not the one who burned up in the fire. That one lived. She is from longer ago.

    I used to see her as a wisp of angelic, long little-girl dresses and bare feet. Frail, fading, wasting away. This morning, though, I see her again: 12 years old, smiling over her double chins. Plain, and unfortunate, and also dead.

    Oh, Lavinia.

  3. Even if I’m not ready, I can start talking to myself.

    Even if I’m not ready, I can start talking to myself.