Monday, June 11, 2012

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Anti- Issue #10 is out.

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My Father’s Ivory Die

#3: additional seizures after his brain surgery, #5: broken front teeth from diabetes… My father throws his ivory die on the floor. I say, “You may die within three years, you know?” He flaps yesterday’s newspaper because his tears blur out an article about a comet—Even after a star dies, it may linger as a white dwarf—I hear the clatter of dishes and silverware. I push his wheelchair. The die rolls into a corner of the dining room. Silken layers of stardust cover it. He scoops egg-drop soup into his mouth.