2002-03-14 || 7:39 p.m.

|| brittle bones and soggy prescriptions ||

my parents are bobbing around in the ocean. i imagine them in a needlepoint picture with walruses in hats and sea monsters and ice bergs; my dad is wearing his russian fur hat (he sent me a polaroid of him wearing it. with a jury duty notice and income tax packets. my dad, in front of the mantelpiece, wearing his sea captain pea coat and russian hat, with 'my antarctic outfit!' scrawled in his wayward handwriting beneath his picture.) and my mum's mouth is set to a permanent needlepoint 'o'.

i worry about them and think about them. i look up cape horn, have their vital information written in three lines on a piece of paper, hear underwater sounds of sea shanties and ribcages cracking.

my parents are bound by matching shoelaces and twenty-nine years of marriage. my parents are bound by 'i love you' said in my voice and shared midnight buffets.

my mum wears glasses. my dad's toes are all broken and up-ended and stitched back together with calcium and the distinguished shape of wingtip shoes.

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