Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
“The housing office sent the final confirmation yesterday,” Bradley added, his voice catching slightly before he looked back down at his desk. “They were just waiting for the signature.”
The gravel path up the cemetery hillside was steep, the small stones crunching under my shoes as I walked toward the plot. The wind on the slope was steady, blowing across the dry grass that covered the open ground above the town.
I stopped at the small granite marker where my father’s name was newly carved, the letters sharp and clean against the gray stone.
The stone was cold when I rested my hand against the top edge, the surface rough under my fingers. Below us, the roof of the high school gymnasium looked small and gray in the afternoon light.
“I have the dress ready, Dad,” I whispered to the quiet air.
A crow landed on the wooden fence post near the boundary line, its dark feathers glossy against the dry weeds. I pulled the blue receipt from my pocket, the paper fluttering slightly in the cold breeze.
