One April Sunday, several months after Grandpa’s funeral, Dad and I drive in search of wild asparagus. Cruising side roads near our home on the outskirts of Ann Arbor, he drives slowly, and I soon spot a patch. Eagerly wading in, I trip and fall forward, face to face with a human skull. It’s eggshell white, with bright green spears grown up and out of empty eyes. Shaking, I call out “Dad!” He turns to see, pulls me up, blinds my eyes with one big hand, and turns me around. As we leave behind what is either an ancient graveyard or the site of a murder, he says, “The rains must have made it rise.”
Ralph La Rosa has published prose on major American writers (Emerson and Thoreau), and has placed short fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and film scripts. These days, he mostly writes poetry, appearing on the Internet, in print journals and anthologies. His books include the chapbook Sonnet Stanzas and full-length Ghost Trees and My Miscellaneous Muse.
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