The Starving Saints

by Caitlin Starling

But though the setting sun cools the air and wakens the beasts of the night, death instead is a singular rupture.

Death does not come all at once; it leaves many of us in the sunlight behind, to grapple with a loss that comes seemingly out of order. Our own rhythms distract us from the procession.”

It looked like he was planting a fingernail. But that can’t be right. It grew like all the rest of them.

Huh, excuse me