Author: Julia Gari Weiss
Appointment
They are full today. It is a blocked date. We are dying to get in, everyone is dying; there is no room for death with nurses on vacation, so you’ll have to wait for...
The Weight
I was hollow shadows holding onto four hours of sleep and Ambien, wearing sunglasses inside, under excruciatingly dim lights. My eye sockets sinking into my cheekbones. People would visit my mom’s hospital room with...
Mechanical
Poem Grey screen goes blank promptly at 14:10 I walk past three pink stalls into the fourth where I hang up my coat pull my scarf and shirt over head careful not to strangle in wires....
The Pacific Design Center
Place Poem A man fell to his death. “Likely suicide,” they said, as if he tripped, dropped off eleven floors by accident or saw his widow place her hands over her ears to...
Hospital Elevator
Hospital Elevator after Mark Strand Three floors including a restricted level. Not one highlighted. A woman steps in and asks where to. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “I don’t push buttons.” Three floors...
