He Died We Left Him Til Morning

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December 21, 2018 by The Citron Review

by Christopher Gaumer

 

We laid him down, forty pounds of beagle. We took shovels; the earth opened easy, like mouths for cheese.

Greg and Kathy stopped by to ask could they help. We were digging, the four of us.

Kathy sang “Amazing Grace,” which I hated, but what can you do?

Greg passed me Frank’s body—solid and strange, only his ears still mobile, velvety smooth, like I imagine the space between dimensions.

Eventually dirt covered the body, covered the blanket, covered the hole, until it was just a plain flat spot of dirt that was, like it or not, our yard.

 

Christopher Gaumer lives in Lynchburg, Virginia and is the Assistant Director of the Randolph College MFA. His creative writing has appeared in McSweeney’s, The Rumpus, Souvenir, Iodine Poetry Journal, and elsewhere.

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