The Books

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One Potato Review

“Mom died this morning. It wasn’t really this morning. Dad said she died during the night, but I was sleeping during the night. For me, she died this morning.” There’s probably more anger here than you bargained for, and incomprehension, and denial - still maybe not. Somebody’s got to tell this story: of closing windows to prevent the smell of her escaping, and making your heart race so you can continue to feel her inside you. The scar of the title reminds you of her voice, but who’s going to make your toast the way you like it? Uncompromising and essential. 

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