Blue.

Blue. The color outside at dusk, because it is winter, and we are in Poland, and there is a lot of snow. Blue. My mother’s face, body, as her blood pressure drops so low she passes out and the doctors swarm around her. Blue. My father’s eyes wide open in panic as he runs from…

Photographs

During the warmest months I walk barefoot in the backyard, grass between my toes, picking the reddest tomatoes from the garden, smelling my mom’s flowers, but only letting her cut them to put them in vases around the house. I photograph them before as evidence: look how they grew, flourished; also as a necessary reminder…