AT LUNCH, I LEARN MY FATHER MAY HAVE ALEXITHYMIA

HANNAH COHEN

 
 

In the middle of a burger restaurant,

he looks at me, parts

his mouth and before he asks, I say

yes, I’m going to finish

my french fries. Yes. All

of them. Even the nubs.

I dip one into the tin

cup of ketchup, breathe in, bite

and bite until I’m at the end of myself.

 

 
 

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