Cheap Cuts

In the kitchen, preparing dinner, my mother trims handfuls of fat from the cheap cuts of beef we can afford. Then, seasoning and marinating, she turns a last-choice, unloved piece of meat into something mouthwatering and delicious.  

After dinner, alone in my room, I sit on the edge of my twin bed and draw lines on the insides of my thighs with a marker. I’m six, or maybe I’m seven. I hold a butter knife tight in my fist, waiting for the courage to start cutting away my own useless fat, my unwanted parts, hoping for just a little of my mother’s magic. 

Jodi Sh. Doff is a NYC-based, sixty-something, single, sober writer whose work includes autobiographical elements of drug use, alcoholism, Times Square, and sex work. As the primary caregiver for an elderly mother with dementia, her recent work focuses on caregiving, aging, and family relationships. Her writing can be found in multiple anthologies, literary journals, and magazines, including Bust, O, The Oprah Magazine, Litro UK, Oldster, and Hippocampus Magazine. Learn more at onlythejodi.com and follow her on Substack. 

This essay is a Short Reads original.