Milestones

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Josephine pulled the seams on her polyester pants straight. She thought it wasn’t right to wear dark clothes that said mourning on a warm day that said Texas summer. Fanning her face and damp underarms, she glanced at her daughter while the undertaker spoke. What Josephine really wanted was to go home and shower.

Cirrhosis took Josephine’s husband to an early grave, but not soon enough, she thought. She loved her husband, “Great guy,” she always said. She meant it despite his gambling debts.

Her daughter’s face colored thirty seconds after Josephine asked, “How much does the funeral usually run?”

Shrew Sonnet

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At night I reach for you, but you’re not there.

I wait, hear heels that tap across the floor.

It must, most certain be a trap, a snare,

Cruel trick, the phantom step beyond the door.

 

In breathless trepidation do I wait

For you, just you, no’ne else but you will do.

“I do,” the words I’ve spoken much too late

To bind our troth and make our life anew.

 

Dear Kate, I beg, please come to me again.

With heaving bosom, dance with me a turn.

Such perfect grace together we attain

That even Rose, her favor we might earn.

 

Alas, I wish that this were but a dream,

In fact, I fear it’s all that it doth seem.