The Ceremony Remains (For Erna Rosenfeld) by Hiromi Yoshida Bike-rush down the wrong South Adams Street dead- end to dead-end—grey October air heavy with mourning and rainstorm threat. “Is it rude to appear late for an occasion such as this?” I wondered as though each moment (I was not there) were yet another blow striking one final nail into her casket. Urgency and denial coexisted so impossibly—propelling me in all the wrong directions as though my heart were a broken compass unable to gauge the simplest way to the site of serene abjection (i.e. the Beth Shalom Gardens). Discarded funeral program pamphlets folded slightly askew with the damp of sad fingers; water for ritual handwash running sparkles; bowl of unknown Jewish ceremony implements folded carefully in dark blue linen; and the colossal casket in the designated oblong hallowed groundspace--clods of soil ritualistically scattered across its hidden surface,
Flying Island is the Online Literary Journal of the Indiana Writers Center, accepting submissions from Midwest residents and those with significant ties to the Midwest.