Things That Remind Me How I’ll Die

after Sei Shonagon

Photo by Daan Stevens on Unsplash

The ceaseless pitch many octaves higher than a piano’s far-right key, shrieking at any hour of the quietest night.

The sweat, the frailty, the quivering of my carpals, the mold floating in a bedside juice bottle, the sugar tablets on the nightstand, in the pantry, in your purse, in my coat, in each glovebox, in your father’s kitchen, in our…