My body was broken into. Just after dawn last week, a surgeon and his accomplices tore into layers of skin, and took a joint away, replacing it with hardware. It was consensual. “That joint was pretty ugly,” said the surgeon, happily, as he visited me in my black and white hospital room. Then, breakfast…
There’s a story here. It’s a garden begun in the cold early days of the pandemic, seeds placed tenderly in egg cartons and plastic clamshells. It’s the terrifying, glowing reality of isolation, distancing, and government neglect. It’s reading Arendt and Duras the first month of the pandemic, and meeting online with a hilarious group…
My little friend is 5 years old. He arrives on my porch and announces himself with a loud, officious knock. I open the door to his beaming face – he’s run ahead of his mama, who is hauling his scooter and a knapsack full of snacks and toys. I move in for a hug….