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Now November, the first snow falls wickedly. She is tired of tired. She is tired of things unfinished: books, promises, dishes— a butterfly pavilion holds four chrysalises on her counter.…

Celery seed. I’m missing celery seed. What more could I have said to the woman with cancer in the coffee shop? Do you have people helping you? What more could…

My mother’s dog is suffering. In the early afternoon we arrive to help my father decide to put her to sleep. She’s waiting on that shabby strip of carpet between…

After we agree, doctors turn off the machines, leave our children and me alone in his ICU cubicle, but it’s not quiet—something still hums: his tremulous pulse, the mechanical bed—…