Erma

She was already dead. She outlived Mickey by 65 years.  What could we do? In the end, there was nothing for any of us.  My mother got a warn out maple dining room table and a mismatched set of chairs. I grabbed my uncle Lou’s gray cardigan.

We snuck around back in the pitch black of an early winter night.  Evening was just coming on casting long shadows across the back fence. The grass was frozen and crunched under feet. I pointed out my grandfather’s roses to her. Several thorny bunches. He was mean as hell but he grew prize winning long stem roses. I breathed into my hands to cut the cold. I watch my breath form circles against the kitchen window and drew circles in the foggy glass. I broke the window with half a brick and we crawled in.