Tag Archives: grief

Winter

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

   I say my mother’s grief was white on white … I say this, but this is not true all the time. The colors change. My mother’s grief has been pink, blue, red. Yet, more and more, when I am … Continue reading →

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Mayday

Posted on November 17, 2025 by John Biscello

My mother’s grief attends nightly to her bones. It is a funeral in reverse, or a funeral in slow-motion, longing for a mourning long delayed. We stall ourselves in grief—idling, passive—and the freest parts become small dark birds tearing away … Continue reading →

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Gremlins

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello

   I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary … Continue reading →

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Hips Don’t Lie

Posted on November 13, 2025 by John Biscello
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Goblins

Posted on October 27, 2025 by John Biscello

Red wind spirits. They carry people off. Mostly mothers, no, not mostly mothers, than is an allegorical kink, an innate twist, it feels like mostly-mothers, and so legend instantly concretizes itself in that feeling-force. The red wind spirits are also … Continue reading →

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Seance

Posted on September 18, 2025 by John Biscello

It was a time in her life when she was not there, not inside herself or her life. And she was pregnant. Pregnant by the wrong man, so many wrong turns and wrong men, and this one, a mislaid night … Continue reading →

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Hips Don’t Lie

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

The hips don’t lie. They are the truth-telling giants, and the whistle-blowers transmitting through pirate radio. They are also the catacombs and weather satellites of one’s cumulative genealogy. When an old person falls and breaks their hip, it is not … Continue reading →

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Hips

Posted on September 16, 2025 by John Biscello

I can no longer remember where I was when it happened, only that it happened, it must have happened. Sometimes we cry silent recordings in our bones, or guts, or maybe it is our hips that are the primary storehouses … Continue reading →

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Others

Posted on September 12, 2025 by John Biscello

I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t hear myself in my head anymore. I was hearing someone else. This someone else was older, much older than me, and tired. Her words dragged, as if part of a funeral procession. Her voice … Continue reading →

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Because I Dreamed

Posted on September 10, 2025 by John Biscello

I never say the babies’ names, because there is danger in that. I know that their names spoken, details given, things brought too much into the light, means we can be found. Their ears own so much: text, air, radio-waves, … Continue reading →

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