by Theodore Heil Joao Prates Camera means chamber, as in shot through with light. In dreams, pasts of my mother appear and the she-wound remains. I crush Tylenol with a spoon — stir into coffee, never finish. On the train, I sit after her face winning over mine. I place my hands over the heat off of license plates, thinking, like a baby bird, it’s her. In the dreams, I am young and my mother opens her fist of iron, a flower blooming at the center of her palm. I reach for it —