Dressing
- At April 07, 2018
- By Dian Day
- In Home
0
I put on my mother’s undershirt, my mother’s socks, her splash pants, the gloves I found at the very back of her closet underneath the misshapen afghan she knitted 40 years ago, my father’s fleece sweater—the one I bought for him some time before he died—and my father’s Tilley hat (given to me by my brother after my mother’s funeral.) Thus clothed, I find I am ready for any kind of spring weather. The cold rain cannot penetrate to my raw skin.
Ice Arrows
- At April 01, 2018
- By Dian Day
- In Home
- 0
I look for an explanation across the expanse of water. Arrows of ice point me in all directions. They are too thin to hold my weight. The dog and I keep walking on solid ground.