We are standing in an old graveyard on an edge of Philadelphia and the sun is hot but the clouds tease rain. The kids have unfolded themselves from the minivan and scattered. Some are helping me look for a certain grave, a faded name hanging weakly off a headstone, while the younger and more disinterested ones do their own thing. They run/ scream/ duck …
© 2023 Serge Bielanko
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