by Liat Katz
She smells like sour milk and she looks like loneliness. I am tasked with meeting her and coming up with a written plan. She is all of 80 pounds sitting on a faded-pink wingback chair and wearing only a tattered top. No underwear, no pants, just a camisole. I hold her 90-year-old wrinkled hand and look at her. The dangling skin from her thighs looks like old white shirts draped on metal hangers.
by Liat Katz
by Gayle Ann Weinstein
by Alisha Kaplan