A Journal of Undoing – One

  There is a water balloon inside my rib cage. It strains and pushes. It wills itself space in a confine where there is none to spare. It has reduced my lungs to limp socks. It doesn’t let me breathe. Where now should this thought go? Do I put a leash on it and walk…

A eulogy to quotidian cruelty

One morning, my father and I were out driving. There was a dog running alongside the car. Dad hit the brakes and suddenly the dog had three good legs and one crumpled limb. It howled in pain. The kind of noise only animals are capable of making or knowing. My father simply drove on. He…