Eight twenty-seven,

after three years in mourning

Don't you think three years is enough? Do

you think you could put away the black clothing and remove that

kohl from under your eyes, just

for a few moments? I'm sure you've nearly outgrown your mourning clothes,

and they're probably suffocating you by now.

Or maybe they always have been.

And besides,

it would be nice to remember what it was like to have a mom again.

Yeah, I remember kneeling beside his bed.

The floor was glistening white and too shiny. It

hurt my eyes to stare. The beeps

were coming and going in rhythm and the water was

dripping in syncopation. A maze of tubes slithered like serpents around the pristine

white sheets, into his nose, his mouth,


Yeah, I remember kneeling beside his bed.

I said,

Our father, who art in Heaven.

I said,

Hallowed be thy name.

I said,

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

I said it just like they said to say it.

I said it over and over again.

And now you're gonna tell me I didn't say it hard enough, loud enough—


There is no god.

And if there is, He's an asshole who needs a new hearing aid.


You wanna see a miracle?

Go plant a fucking tree.

Come back to us, mommy.

He's gone, but you're still here.

We're still here.