I am whole, and yet /  A part of me circulates out there with / Arms, legs, and a brain. 

Once I described myself as “obnoxiously optimistic” in a job interview. (I wasn’t hired.) 

Her gift was the nicest thing she had ever given to me; the tenderness in that moment ached like a fresh bruise, and I chose to look away.

By Christmas, a new child was living in my bedroom and my stuff was sitting in a storage unit. I was scattered. 

Ambivalence and contradiction surround me. I am full of joy yet incredibly sad. I know I made the right choice but question it every day. I am taking care of my Dad but never laying hands on him.  

To have wondered about this information my whole life, and then to find it so easily, laid out right before me without even trying, was almost surreal.

For the sixth time, we’re replaying the conversation about his dementia diagnosis. For the sixth time, it surprises and saddens him to learn he’s not, in fact, a survivor but a fragile old man. 

I felt connected to Nanoo in that moment; we couldn’t bring ourselves to step out of the fire when we stood melting, consumed.

I locked away my anger, sadness, and confusion – a naughty trio, imprisoned just under the surface of my chest like some twisted Superman badge.

I have her plates, her college pennant, her recipe book, her weird clock, and her watch. I have her picture on my mantle, but I do not have her.