CONDOLENCE CALL Gretchen Fletcher "She was too busy feeling grief to dress like grief."                                         Zora Neale Hurston Wearing widow's weeds of fuchsia, as shocking as untimely death, the raw color of the new wound hidden in the breast under that brave blouse he liked on her, she ushers us graciously into the hush of their room he'll not come back to, past clusters of family members and the table loaded with food from friends who didn't know what else to say. She waves her hands through the empty air illustrating the stories of their life together with gestures. As if calling him back, they flutter as if seeking to hold his again. She has rejected black and opted for bright instead. The room glows with her fuchsia and his so very recent presence. The food lies uneaten, the tears, as yet, unshed.

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