Lost Balloon

A curl of a woman pouring a curl of water onto a garden patch. A square yard of soil that yields up some tiny shoots. Seed, then plant, then seed again. She tells herself this is the cycle of life. She stands in front of her trailer, and the trailer has windows like eyes that watch and watch. It is some kind of summer, and we know this by her dress, all cotton and flower, the...

Jessa watched as the funeral procession piled into the limo. The widow remarked it was “a sign” that the driver had parked beneath the willow tree, since her late Ralph frequented the arboretum and willows were his favorite. But, as groundskeeper, Jessa knew better. The limo would idle there tomorrow and every day after.

As the mourners departed, Jessa heard rustli...

I was waiting with the other parents in the corner of the parking lot when our preschoolers floated out of the school. We collectively gasped, surprised to see the whole class, twelve children, shrieking in delight, bodies lifted, each with a brand new pair of wings. I scanned the crowd for Molly, imagining her wings were a soft, buttery yellow, her favorite color. The studen...