Intercede

In the still and empty scream of 1:00 a.m. he’d cradle his tumbler with both hands. “Nora Kirwan, intercede for me. Paul Barry, Francis Louis Reagan, Patsy Dowd, Jim Feeney, John Fallon; intercede for me.” A convocation of the dead by one too sick of seeking forgiveness in whiskey.


Orange

She said she wanted to taste an orange and remember times before war and cancer changed everything. Taking the train to Hull, we bought one from a sailor. She was dead when we got back. Halving the dark rose blood-orange, we felt it weep down our chins.