Ghosts Scattered Among the Stars and My Father’s Ashes in the Ganga
On space debris and a father's remains.
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When I search for my father, I feel his numbers. Here’s a house number on my friend’s street that mimics the first few digits of my father’s phone. Here, at the 7/11, my receipt totals the amount of the last four digits of his SSN.
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I whisper to my great-grandmother a burden I’d like lifted, one she might take to the next world with her.
When your maternal grandmother dies from breast cancer, there’s this strange intersection between her health and your mother’s health and yours.