Inheritance by Willie James
My sister and I are beginning to inherit the lightning blond crabgrasses and balding planes of our father and mother’s wealth.
Recently Published
I no longer harangue every desk nurse at every hospital for a taxonomic breakdown of her bills. I don’t ask for the numbers of the Benadryl, the water cups, the abdominal touches done with gloved hands. I am the most American I’ve ever been—she costs what she costs and I eat it.
My sister and I are beginning to inherit the lightning blond crabgrasses and balding planes of our father and mother’s wealth.
Fake meat, dry heat while fires spread and there is no great way to say this.
"Our eyes would meet / as if he were alive / (though he was never alive)."
I see a glowing oblong staring at me, / curious, alert, and fervid.