Rochelle Ratner

Having decided the casket will be a perfect fit, the small red velvet pillow under her head more than comfortable, she gets up and begins again. This time she’ll let him in. Except, guiding him toward where her heart should be, her breast is but another unexpected obstacle. Okay, breast then. Fresh, healthy, mint green breast, just a faint odor of cow dung. It will aid the growth, they say. It’s crowded but, little hangman stick figure that he is, she can fit him in. She never was much good at drawing. Cute little man with bowler hat and toes pointed up, she feels his rubber soles moving about, tentative at first. Finally, a heartbeat.