Eaton Hamilton

vertebrae made of skeleton keys, a spinal cord, and a Master Lock brain, drawn in my homemade iron gall ink on a rich golden parchment paper

CW: abuse, CSA

My father is dying.

Every week, a new emergency: a stroke, pneumonia, sepsis, C. Diff. His lungs, filled with fluid, crackle through the stethoscope bell. His muscles are wasting. He falls a lot, shreds his skin clean down to bone. When my mother escapes the apartment to run errands, he speed-dials my sister, sometimes crying, sometimes ranting about our half-brother Scott, accusing him of getting a little too close to our mom.

My sister forwards me voicemails. We are building a case for Power of Attorney.

“Scott blew it, as far as I’m concerned,” Dad says in one, his speech slurred like all the times he drunk-dialed me after I went no contact in the mid 90s.

“He can go to…