sunshower

We gathered in a field of the green & dying, under a virulent sun. Weeds stole names from the dead, but ask Aunt Carrie or Cousin Lynn & they could tell them all anyway. A Baptist fellowship to add to their numbers our matriarch of a fucked-up family, with the preacher-man witness to our clumsy antics of make-believe & the fifth-generation miracle peeping from her parasol at her pitiful inheritance of us.

A splash against the casket our only warning, before the heavens opened-up & poured their disdain through the sun & Grandma’s voice-- “ Well, I guess the Devil’s beatin’ his wife.”

Callie Fedd

Class of 2022