My Father Called My Grandmother’s Passbook Useless Until The Truth Came Out

fall, holly in December. I sit on the bench near her headstone and talk to her. I tell her about my patients, about the house, about the petunias along the walkway. I tell her about the soup.

My kitchen window faces east and the early light comes in long warm stripes across the counter on Sunday mornings when I am standing at the stove. I make the chicken continue reading …