Corpse Candle


By Cindy Rinne

The cow munched the red
dress with white daisies,
her favorite.

She crunched between grave
stones. A small one,
curved top was

incised with Mary.
five-years-old, like her.
Rumor said a dim

light floated above
the brittle ground from
this spot to Mary’s

home and back again
the night before the
accident. Mother wrestled

the cow for a shred of memory,
fraying the left cap sleeve.
Dianthus scent in clumps
sprinkled on the mound.

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