dead, my mother moves in

By Carla Sarett

Why are you here? I ask.  
From behind, she looks small,  
or smaller. By lunch, she shrinks  

to half this size, who knows by  
dinner she might fit in  
my kitchen cabinet, clutter 

never bothers her. Only the living  
need space and time, and it's never  
enough. Where else should I be?  

she asks. We stir old bones,  
cracked bones, wishbones from  
last year's sad Thanksgiving,  

organic, and the ones before,  
the doomed supermarket birds.  
Oh, we're helpless with leftovers.

Carla Sarett's recent work appears in Third Wednesday, Prole, Bowery Gothic, Hamilton Stone Review, Deracine, isacoustic and elsewhere; her essays have been nominated for Best American Essays and the Pushcart Prize. A Closet Feminist, her debut novel, will be published in 2022 (Unsolicited Press.) Carla has a Ph.D. from University of Pennsylvania and lives in San Francisco.