
At forty below zero, machines mostly don’t matter.





At forty below zero, machines mostly don’t matter.

On the day he died, my father’s body was donated to a university medical school and for the next year, God knows what was done to him.

As I embrace my mother and her hummingbird bones, I hold her for an extra moment….

Late is not an alarm but a whisper, a tickle, a background drip.

I’ve relocated to a place where the mountains disappear.
