I remember the boat ride I took to reach you. How the sky was clear, empty as my heart, and the water was as still as an empty nursery. A woman and her child sat in front of me. I stared at the woman’s hat, thought of your chestnut hair, the way it smelled of oranges. The child turned around and smiled at me. Her eyes were the same honey color as yours. I looked away, hid my anguish. I can’t remember the rest of the boat ride or disembarking or walking to the hospital. I can’t remember anything else about that day except the words, “you’re too late.”

…

Lisa Lerma Weber’s work has appeared in 3 Moon Magazine, Cease Cows, Mineral Lit, Pink Plastic House, Silver Birch Press, and others. Follow her on Twitter @LisaLermaWeber