Die, My Love

And it wasn’t so much my father-in-law’s death that affected me, but rather the loss of his words, In all my born days, his turns of phrase, Well, I happen to be rather good at that, and his thick, spit-filled tone.

She didn’t check the expiry date on the medication she started taking the day of the funeral.

She lived in her body as though it were an infested house, as if she had to tiptoe through it trying not to touch the floor.

An image poisons you: the eyes of an owl, and just like that, it’s too late. I push her up against the wall, undo her bun with my teeth and strangle her with my kisses.

A radiologist who graduated from the public university, class of ’83.

How is it possible for my mother-in-law to speak so softly, walk so neatly, be so proper, and yet offer Prozac to a mother-to-be.

How is it possible for my mother-in-law to speak so softly, walk so neatly, be so proper, and yet offer Prozac to a mother-to-be.

I don’t like antidepression.

I don’t like antidepression.

I yell at them in public. I like to make a scene, humiliate them, show them how cowardly they are. Because that’s what they are: chickens.