DNR by A.J. Odasso I am so thin, reads the mimeograph, final line in my great-grandmother's letter. Records say it was consumption that killed her, slow wasting- away of hunger and breath. I am so thin, she says again, her last graphite-scrawl a repetition. * I have known fever, fire gone viral in my blood after swift incubation. H1N1-haunted dreams raised my temp to a hundred and three. I lay raving for days while the NHS Direct hotline told my partner to keep me warm. I think I'm dying, I rasped, grabbing the phone. I'm afraid. * Clean typeface in lieu of scrawling, nib-fine ascenders scaffold a loved-one's living will. Do not resuscitate, it says, deceptively brief with dotted I and curtly-crossed Ts. We are so thin, I think, signing the paper. We are so thin.