At a Diner

I leaned in to kiss his forehead. Please, just another day, another month, I thought. Was a year too much to ask for?

My husband says he wants to be buried by the sea, like Neruda, so when his eyes can’t see the ocean anymore, his body would still be close to it.

The innkeeper drugged us first with free wine, and chopped us up, one at a time, while we were asleep. I woke while he was stirring us.