Quietly gardening and liberating gravestones from rambling weeds...
I could sense that my breathing companions were getting a little uneasy with the rolling storm clouds approaching and the one ray of sunlight that happened to fall upon me.
Or maybe it was just noticeable because, Willie said in his southern Tennessee accent, “Kimber! Your utility knife looks like its glowing!”
I continued on with the broken silence by holding up a blue feather that was perched on the marble rectangle my elbows were also occupying...
It was late. Like it always seemed to be for Sophia Diamond. Even before she laced up her corset and applied her fake eyelashes. It was late. She felt late. The pounding on the door wasn’t ceasing and had been going on since she shut it fifteen minutes ago. Or was it twenty? Time didn’t matter anymore. Time was late.
Trying (torment) to remove the fleck of glitter from her eye without smearing her makeup, she caterwauled, “Why have I been prancing around with these dim cement mixers when I’m a fucking pillared canary?!”
Sophia Diamond threw her brush at the mirror…
The clouds rolled on. I was no longer in nature’s spotlight. I pulled a weed.
The guys I was spending my day with exclaimed, “What?”
“Who was pounding on the door?”
“Do you know this person you’re sitting on?”
“Are you going to finish the story?”
I told them that was the end of the story. The mirror shattered. She was cut to death. It was the '30's.
I then made up death story to accompany every headstone I cleared for the rest of the afternoon.
On my way home I saw a rainbow.
(The picture above is not the cemetery I was at today, but a cool picture nonetheless of a cemetery I was at last month in New Orleans.)
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