Blog
The Aquarium

Still dark when booms from the living room startle us awake. We stumble toward the sound and find a bird in the atrium. It’s a white-winged dove, like many we see on our daily walks. The glass is splotched from her many attempts to escape, but she is not frantic now.
Hole

A year into the pandemic, as thousands of people were dying each day and March hung its low gray skies over us, my five-year-old son and I went out into the rain and dug a hole. We'd exhausted every game, every book and block.
After a storm, a quiet dinner

We sit across from my grandfather, gone from our lives until this moment, and feed him warm rice from a plastic container balanced on my knee. When he swallows and smiles, I watch a little part of my mother heal, stitched together with each slow blink shared between them.
Depths

From behind the window of an air-conditioned gas station, I see my dad wiping his brow with the flipside of the paper towel he just used to check the oil. He stays outside by the pumps, adjusting the suitcases tied with twine to the top of the station wagon.