My Sister Brought My Mother’s Bank Statement to My Door

my mother smiling in rooms she had set on fire.

Denise set the papers on my tiny kitchen table. The good coffee was still there. The French press had an inch left in the bottom, cold and bitter.

“Yesterday,” Denise said, “Terrance and I went to Mom’s because the relocation office said the wire never cleared. Mom said you were punishing me because I didn’t continue reading …