December 2020

Postmortem

How would knowing that consciousness lingers while the body goes cold change the way we reckon with death—or bear witness?

I absorbed so many forms of 1980s sitcom trauma.

“But I’m working on a special microchip that will block the signals of all demons and devils,” he said.

An elderly man collapsed against the base of a Bernini.

My short story about an elderly couple in a Walgreen’s parking lot was published in Vol. 1 Brooklyn.

Maybe it has to do with the silence it brings, how it tranquilizes the world for a while.

There were days when our images were honored, even feared.

I’m reappreciating the joy of mundane events this year, the delight in everything happening as expected.

They gathered in Washington DC to wave flags with the president dressed up like Rambo, slicked with sweat and carrying a belt-fed weapon.

I feel more present in the world at midnight, most like myself.

Three thousand Americans are dying each day from the coronavirus, and two hundred thousand more are infected.

Three years ago on a Saturday night in rural Pennsylvania, I saw a vision of the future that I cannot shake.