Photo Source: Pexels A Remorseless Elegy for a Heartless Bitch Dying, the first thing you lose is your appetite. Did they bring an hors d’oeuvres tray to tempt you? Crackers with cream cheese? Pimento-centered olives? A Manhattan on the rocks, no cherry? Dad says, “Please call your grandmother. She remembers Your name in her sleep. She hears you speaking. She dreams of a chubby, pigtailed girl with freckles Who picks her nose and won’t eat tomatoes.” I’m in England. I don’t have to...