Essays

Hannah Glickstein Hannah Glickstein Hannah Glickstein Hannah Glickstein

A Soundproof Room

My father was resting on the sofa-bed, slightly pulled up against a pile of cushions my brother arranged last night after we got him out of the hospital so he could die at home. From where I was standing in the semi-darkness, his large frame, illuminated by morning light coming through the French windows, looked like a windowpane leaning against a wall. 

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