Ways and Plans He spoke to his mother’s corpse through his sister’s cell-phone. She sat with the body, ten minutes too late to watch the death. He leaned on the bathroom sink in the back of the stockroom in the dark. She set the phone on speaker. He mewled apologies through the air, noise became his voice. She cooed and shushed and made sounds for consolation. He washed his face, raked his hair, considered travel, ways and plans. She sat in an office chair with the body for an hour more. ___________________________________________________
First published in Boston Literary Magazine
Brendan McEntee 