out back behind the convenience-grocery is a house. it is in a row of
other houses. they are older than the town’s inception. with gnarled tiles and weathered stucco, they wait as the valley reaches up to hug their narrow bases. it will reclaim them. one day.

out back behind the convenience-grocery is a kid. he has curly hair that frames his gaunt complexion. he has a smile that belays nausea. he has a little sister who begs him to stop. he does not. he will not until he has killed the moon.

out back behind the convenience-grocery is a forest. it is older than the valley’s naming. there are houses with crumbling chain-link fences that the forest guards. there are peach trees, and cherry clearings, and walnuts bathing in patches of nettle. there is yarrow and goldenrod and wild carrot. there is chickweed and horehound and the blood of a planet. there is celandine and thistle and the skeleton of a long deceased celestial body.

out back behind the convenience-grocery is a popsicle. it melts in the evening sun. sugar dripping onto moss. there is a little sister that it melts into. it runs down her forearms and onto the bones of a moon. she does not mind. she tosses the wooden stick over the fence. she makes a wish as it flies into the arms of a corpse.