It has been a while, some time, and it may be longer. This is me break­ing the sur­face of the water for a gasp of air.

Sun­sets over the Ver­razano Bridge, sleep­ing beneath the stench of moth­balls and death in my grandmother’s house while she sep­a­rated into smaller and smaller pieces that headed along the shore of Upper New York Bay, through the Nar­rows, and out into the ocean … her chil­dren, my aunt and uncles, the way they car­ried her in a small rec­tan­gu­lar blue vel­vet (aqua­vel­vet) box, tak­ing turns, her to there and there to over there, as they dis­ap­peared into a white Lexus SUV and sped away down Shore Road. Sort­ing through pic­tures, divvy­ing them up amongst those present.

I am clench­ing. My phone is dis­con­nected due to a land­lord error. I think my liver is rup­tur­ing. My com­puter at home is bedrid­den with infec­tion. I am at work at 6:30pm on a sunny Wednes­day evening.

There is no need for mem­ory. Time to go home and smoke cigarettes.