My dog wanders around the house bumping into things. The furniture is rearranged; cardboard boxes and plastic bins sprout and disappear overnight. Mudprints colonize the kitchen floor, the bathtub fills with dirt. Now there is a matter of perception. M …

I am driving across the country with my mom, Gloria, who is 83 years old and suffering from (undiagnosed) dementia, and a small dog, Mojo, who belongs to my family, formerly of New York—specifically, my mother and my father (who is no longer among the …

I am surrounded by stacks
of papers and books,
sitting at my computer in my studio
in mid-morning light shaded by
mid-summer leaves on backyard treelimbs
softly swaying, bird-chatter and coo-cooing
distant with traffic tires’ rhythmic rubbing
of asphalt; jays’ shriek assaults the sky—