“He’s sleeping,” mom says. “Shush.”
He’s been sleeping a long time.
Her daughter is being loud. She turns down the volume on the tablet.
Mom walks to the kitchen. Spaghetti is written on the weekly menu for tonight. She pulls the noodles from the pantry to cook.
She watches her daughter playing from the open concept kitchen while the noodles boil.
“It’s almost time for dinner,” she calls. “Go get your brother for me.”
Mom sets three bowls of spaghetti on the dinner table.
She brings him to his chair. Props him up straight; his clothes torn, hanging from his bones.
They all gather around. Fresh garlic almost covers the stench of decay.
“Let’s pray.”
Mom takes their hands.
His crumbles in hers.
