By Daniella Toosie-Watson
Dad, you look like a doll I wouldn’t want to play with, boxed in your casket. The mortician tried to paint you pretty. I wanted to be pretty, too, but mom says makeup is inappropriate for funerals.
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By Rachel Eliza Griffiths
I’d come into the room & try to writea different ending on those anonymous walls. There was less time all the timeuntil time changed. You know what I mean.
By Diane Seuss
I dreamed of it again, my dad’s body lost to us again but finally found again, we set him in Dickinson’s coffin, wooden, painted white, where had his body been all these years, things felt strange,
By Elliott Holt
His father’s apartment, with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, Oriental rugs, and views of Central Park, filled Helen with longing. She had always imagined herself in New York. She had always wanted a claim to that city’s streets.