Deathbed Wisdom The shadow of her arm falls long across the wall. Once, she’d climbed a bald cypress in summer wearing an ivory shift. Once, she’d kissed a stranger in a rainstorm who tasted of bourbon and sea spray. The electric impulse of her stutters, fails. Her body sighs. The recording machines, always bright, always humming, continue their work until they’re switched off by well-trained hands.
First published in Ink Sweat & Tears
Brendan McEntee 