Jessa watched as the funeral procession piled into the limo. The widow remarked it was “a sign” that the driver had parked beneath the willow tree, since her late Ralph frequented the arboretum and willows were his favorite. But, as groundskeeper, Jessa knew better. The limo would idle there tomorrow and every day after. 

As the mourners departed, Jessa heard rustling stir from the grave. Four raccoons had perched upon Ralph’s casket, blueberries in hand. Inky jam smeared across the nameplate, pawprints streaked the mahogany. There were no signs. Only raccoons and blueberries, and the dead men trapped beneath them.

Maria Pianelli Blair is a writer and artist. Her collages are published in Contemporary Collage Magazine, FEELS Zine, and 45th Parallel, among other publications. Find her writing in Gypsophila Magazine, swim press, two-headed press, Pile Press, Prosetrics, Blood+Honey, and Querencia Press. Follow her @strange_sunsets or visit mpianelliblair.com.