fiction by Michelle Brafman
Winner of the 2006 Lilith fiction contest
I steal a sterling silver baby spoon from my great Aunt Sylvia, while her body, barely cold, rests under a blanket of disheveled earth at the Beth Shalom cemetery. I do it in the kitchen, on impulse, while I’m looking for a teaspoon to stir my chamomile, just before my family begins reciting the mourner’s kaddish in my aunt’s living room. Yisgadal ve yiskadash shema rahah, amen.