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by Liat Katz
Wordless Tea
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.
The Refusal of Time: Visiting the Old Old
The articles in this special section:Wordless Tea
by Liat Katz
“Go check on Gramma,” my father said.
by Gayle Ann Weinstein
The Gingham Dresses
by Alisha Kaplan