by Bill Yarrow

One day she took a lover, a Québécois
mortician, who mollified her spirit as he
mortified her flesh. She found her escape
in a letter from her sclerotic brother whose
neurosis demanded companionship. She'd
fly to Escondido to be his renewal. On her
way to the airport, her cab was rear ended
by a bus. She suffered three broken bones.

Six months later, she was teaching theology
to refugees from EST. Her brother was in rehab,
his prognosis good. She felt healthy and happy.
No clouds anywhere. Pseudocyesis does that.