always in need of a bowling partner on Thursday nights.
Joe raises himself from the ground and reads the headstone’s inscription, ‘A Devoted Wife’. He pauses for a moment, crosses himself then folds the chair, picks up his red cup.
Beneath Joe, under the earth, his wife’s hand—bare of flesh, her gold wedding band clasped on bone—reaches upward toward him, through satin, wood and roots.
Joe turns and walks toward his car.