He is very old. Wrinkles like canyons, deep enough to stick my arm up to my elbow. Nose hairs protruding, white like icicles. I’ve seen him from afar many times over. He is always on the left side of the casket, his right ear best for hearing. Every funeral he mumbles to his sons, they … Continue reading Measuring Mortician
dying
Mirage
Wood cracks and pops. Sparks leap with joy as they dance to my feet. The heat of the flames is enough to burn the edges of my cheeks, but I welcome it. The fire is everything right now. Consuming me. The dancing flames enrapture my curiosity with their waltz. Spirits as orange as the sun, … Continue reading Mirage
Jessica Balko 