I dream I bury a machine

Your father can’t see the person he’s closest to, my mother, the machine tells me. She looks comfortable resting in the pit. The sun hums on her metal forehead. I thought I’d hate being buried alone, she says, but there’s actually a lot going on here. Dinner, my father says. Mince? I say. Ok, he says. I start to cook. From the homely catacomb in the living room my mother can see the stars. Need anything? I ask her after dinner. Do you mind, she says, you're blocking the most beautiful aperture.