Her Little Plum
May 30th, 2015 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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The plum blossoms dance in the spring breeze like pink snowflakes across the yard.
A boy again, mother lifts me into the limbs to pick ripened fruit. “Be careful, my precious squirrel.”
“Ready, dear?” my wife asks.
“Yes,” my voice chafes. I inspect my dark suit, adjusting my tie in the window’s reflection. Wipe my face and rub wet fingers together.
“Your speech is in my purse.”
Words. An inadequate parting gift.
My mouth waters as mother sets down a steaming plum pie.
After her funeral, floodlights illuminate wreckage of the fallen tree. A brittle heart splinters. Sobs erupt anew.
From Guest Contributor Eric Schweitz
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.