One feels the need in the end for hundreds of daughters— / by Laura Kochman

Ava Klein has died, again. For a couple of days, while I sat on the blue couch and read, she was alive again, after having previously died, after having previously lived, etc. When I am not reading, she is simultaneously alive and dead, tucked neatly into the packaging of letters on unexposed pages. This could be true of all books, though not so pointedly. This is one of the reasons why I believe in writing.