Funeral-pyre ashes rise into fireflies floating around a baby sister resting on her brother’s lap. The screen fades to black and the theater is sobbing. To my right is my own younger sister, whose eyes remain dry. “Liz, I feel bad for saying this, but the sister’s voice was so annoying it took me out of the movie,” I whisper. “Yeah, I’m glad she died,” Liz admits. We hold in laughter as we walk by circles of somber folks in the hallway and lobby. By the time we say our goodbyes in the parking lot, we too are in tears.
Will Neuenfeldt studied English at Gustavus Adolphus College and his poems are published in Capsule Stories, Months to Years, and Red Flag Poetry. Instagram: @wjnpoems