After the Funeral

by Camille Hugret

Soon we will come to the place
where the black dog barks through the gate,
but first, stop to watch some children
retrieve a kite whose unspooled string
has tangled and caught in the bare trees.
Their earnest banter appears
in puffs of smoke.

Grim clouds collect in a dark procession.
Children drop from the branches
like heavy fruit, gain legs
and run through Autumn leaves
the lambent red and yellow of stained glass,
striving in their calf's fury toward home
and we too move on to our own house,
carved from the hills and emptiness.
There's a black ribbon on the door
but the kitchen is bright and full of people.

Camille Hugret-Getzik lives with her husband on an island in the Pacific Northwest. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Mosaic, The Eunoia Review, and Barnstorm. In 2011 she received her MFA from San Diego State University. She is at work on a short-story collection and a novel.

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