Her husband was eaten by a lion. Does it matter where? Their honeymoon. Part of a skull. Dragged from his tent — not a peep. Who says that? who? Then explain the yellow shower curtain across the bay window. The sodden mound of paper on the front stoop, the shattered porch light and rotten soffits. Never met. I suppose. In this world? This world? You’re the genius. You tell me.

Originally published in Linea, volume one, Spring, 2019