After a two-year virus hiatus, she opened the door on the first knock. "Well look at you," my 92-year-old aunt quavered. White slacks and blouse swallowed her thin frame. "You don’t ever change, do you kid?" I wanted to say she doesn’t change either. I want time to backpedal to the woman who waltzed across my parents' parquet, the artist who spawned quirky ceramics, the gambler whose luck Atlantic City couldn’t beat. I want my uncle to return from the bay where she sprinkled his ashes, where one day we’ll sprinkle hers. Instead I hugged her. She welcomed me inside.
Finalist, Fall Contest 2023. Contest Readers’ praise included “fresh” and “love the repetition of want; effective.”
Tess Kelly's work has appeared in Cleaver, Dorothy Parker's Ashes, and Sweet Lit, among other publications. She lives and writes in Portland, Oregon.