He swept each glittering
shard into darkness. He watched the red wine
gush from the bottle and let the bottle smash. He walked up the stairs,
each step an Everest, and collected the votive candles, white and pure,
light everlasting to shine on her soul. He tried to sweep up the rose
petals and found that they clung like fingers to the brush so he did it
by hand. He burned the picture and the note, stripped the bed, threw
out the sheets, remade it.
He still slept on the couch that night and for a dozen nights after that.
Return to Home