Dear William
When I turned eleven, they found me in the orphanage. My orphanage.
They found me and took me and they proved with their science that I’m your descendant. Your “direct” descendant. Your great grandson, eighth generation.
“My God,” they said.
Note on a Fridge
You moved my shoes.
Again, Laura.
You moved my shoes again and I couldn’t find them.
Dedication
We’d like to dedicate this one,
this one here,
to you.
To you, the daughter whose childhood is an entire spectrum of pain, and who endures both tortuous abuse and harrowing neglect because they are indeed the same evil.
The Miracle of Death
Ain’t death grand? Seriously. Isn’t it?
Hold the knee-jerk reaction you’re undoubtedly having at this moment and think about it with me. Why are we, ‘the living,’ so quick to label death as a dark and terrible thing to be feared and avoided at all costs?
