The dead possum grew bigger every day. Anna walked on the other side of the road, avoiding the stinking blob that puffed in the sun. One day, the possum began shrinking. Finally it turned to dust.
Mama was in heaven, they said. The cancer puffed her up like the possum; perhaps she was silvery dust now, too.
Then came the cleansing rain.
submitted at 2:55pm
14 May 2009