On the table, orange rinds have been sculpted into the approximate shape of an orange. On the carpet, an empty brown paper bag holds the approximate shape of a vodka bottle. On the couch, my mother and father have been sculpted into the approximate shape of my mother and father. They’re passed out side by side with their heads notched together, their opposite hands woven into one fist, and their bare feet intertwined.
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As is usual in your writing -- like in life -- joy and pain share the same space. Also, there's your love that is always just so moving. Thanks.
Neither of my parents drank. That was left up to me. But having lost both of them, all I really have in my memory is their approximate shape. Thank you for those words