The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2022

100 The Meadow mercy of the rain. In the hospital at first she used a tablet to video chat. We’d talk about a favorite restaurant closing, how we’d miss the margaritas. We’d talk about the beard I was growing, how there was more salt than pepper. We’d talk about the kids, how we’d buy plane tickets for them to come see us “when this is all over.” She’d ask about the garden, and I’d go out to the backyard and show her, walking around the terraces like I was taking her on a tour, and pause when she wanted to see something more closely. “So far so good,” she’d say. The wife looking at the house says she’s a gardener. “Her thumb is green as grass,” the husband says. “I just keep out of the way.” “Wise man,” I say. I tell the wife about the pots. “Sold,” she says. “I have a map,” I say.

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