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GLENDA’S
PRESCRIPTION
“Have a cup
of tea, Madame Bovary,”
she says,
poking fun at Flaubert’s doctor
to remind me
life doesn’t care
about minor
tragedies, funerals of love.
Life
doesn’t even slow down for a look
when the
big black cars lead
the
procession from the chapel.
Traffic
only halts long enough by law
to keep the
grieving concentrated.
No
consideration for stragglers
who must
fight rush hour
like
everyone else and hope
they make
it before the last amen.
“Just make
it hot and put lots of sugar in,”
she says
with a practiced mourner’s smile.
Published in Heart’s Migration
(Tia Chucha Press) by Linda Rodriguez
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