Chimes for Kim

I remember your deep laugh and how much you enjoyed rattling the neighbors by placing odd objects in your front yard. How it amused you that one neighbor kept asking you the meaning of the shiny blue egg placed by itself beneath an old pine tree.

“What do you think it means?” you always asked him in response. Then that bold, brazen laugh. “I’ll never tell him I simply like the color blue.”

Strange how much I thought of you yesterday when I heard wind chimes at the garden center–a serene tinkling. The sound gave me a sense of peacefulness. I needed to buy one. Out of yellow and green and purple, I picked blue.

What does a short video of a blue wind chime mean?

It means I simply miss you.

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False Promises to the Dying

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Modesty is plausibility. The lie’s appeal. Chicago unacceptably and unrealistically far-reaching. So Fresno in July. Central California. Farm country.

Minor league baseball. Young, muscular, hopeful young men trying to hit doubles into the outfield gaps. The reaching. The smell of fresh mowed grass. Earth and youth and hay fever.

Eager whisperers. The believing. The wanting.

Plans of motels and cheeseburgers. Car rides and photographs and a coffee table book.

But she is 90 pounds and fading. The neither of us admitting.