My Last Name

by Eric M. Schumacher

There is nothing natural about being ninety-five years old, being dressed by a young woman in pink pajamas, being unable to forget the things you never wanted to remember, and unable to remember the only things you ever wanted to keep. No, there is nothing natural about death or its causes—this too, I remember.

finger the chip in the rim of the cup. “A chipped cup can still serve tea,” I say, not looking up.