What I Find the Day of the Funeral
It looks like the Moon, but it isn’t. Everything looks like the Moon, though, doesn’t it? The offensive pool ball, screaming across the billiards table. The paper coaster peeking through the inch of glass protecting the empty pint from the filthy bar. The mass that gleamed snowy against the black of the X-ray. The meanest ex’s sleeping eye, void of tetchy capillaries during a midnight inspection, checking they’re still breathing. And for what? Their soul’s a blank disc too: another Moon Thing. It’s hard to believe time could whittle a perfect white circle from a sand dollar, or that God could grant anything so tenuous existence at all, but here it is: a sea-button sitting slight in my wet palm, a dead thing persevering.
Alana Greene is an American writer living in London, where she is currently pursuing her MA in Creative Writing. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in cool rock repository, The Minison Zine, and HELL IS REAL: A Midwest Gothic Anthology.