Monthly Archives: February 2015

The gangrene. The leg. My mother’s leg. The dying left one. Most visits to her house, I am alone there with her aide, and I have helped to change the dressings on bedsores. To roll my mother toward me, reassure … Continue reading →

“You sound down.” My mother. I’m calling her. You sound down. She has always been able to hear when there is sadness in my voice. “What is it, Sandy?” And then I start to cry. I cry on the phone … Continue reading →

“I smell fish.” Conversations with my mother, desert sands blowing in light winds this way and that: “Fish?” I’m making my daily phone call to my mother. Sometimes more than daily when I’m especially missing her. “Something’s fishy.” She’s been … Continue reading →