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Excerpt: "I am standing in a funeral home in Wichita, Kansas, looking at my grandmother's face. It appears fuller than it did when I last saw it. When she was alive. Her gray hair is styled more formally than usual. Only her glasses look the same. Behind the lenses, however, her eyes show none of their usual sparkle, the way they seemed to twinkle when she made a joke or heard or read an insightful comment- or listened to me play my guitar. I am a junior in high school, and I have no clue how I'm going to go on without her."


Originally published in The Windhover 21.1 Spring 2017, Editor Nathaniel L. Hansen, University of Mary Hardin-Baylor Press.