Possession
I wander through my parents’ house cataloging items in my head thinking, “This is mine. This is mine, too,” saying, “Mom, you really should get someone in here to help you clean.” my mother won’t let a stranger touch her things, she says, all the things my father bought her before he passed. my mother doesn’t need any help from me, she says. Everything is fine. my sister calls me late at night wonders how our mother’s doing, wants to talk about assisted living, a nursing home clearing out the house. she wants the zebra lamps, she says, she...
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