[I no longer have]
[I had to remove my]
[I couldn’t keep my]
[I chose a chance at long life over having] … More Moonbox Notes #31: Fall & Film

my husband knows where
my skin discerns itself and where
it does not—and between the islands
of numbess my body has found … More Moonbox Notes #30: Letting Go/Next Surgery

how I wish to hold on
bury myself with your belonging … More Moonbox Notes #29: Primavera (Hello, Goodbye)

I remember when grandpa didn’t slouch, when he’d tell jokes, eat pickled pigs feet, speak his native tongue to the gardeners that care for his landscaping. He still laughs, of course, but it feels so rare. My husband once told that silly dog joke about a bulldog and a shih tzu. Grandpa laughed so hard it was as if, for a brief moment, the curse of being a stroke victim had broken. Humor will always be what seems to soothe what cannot be said. … More Moonbox Notes #28: Post-Surgery