Big sister Nancy and I put up three pumpkins.
Neighbors admire our assiduousness, watching with starched smiles.
Halloween will be good medicine after her. Yet, they offer no relief.
We adhere to verisimilitude, carving with precision. A pumpkin family.
First, brother and sister pumpkins.
Brother and sister have wide eyes, weary, upturned mouths.
Third the mother.
We place brother and sister pumpkins together, mother a few feet apart. A few more.
She stares at us, faceless. We can’t figure out what expression she’d wear.
Unhappy? Relieved to be away from children?
We pretend the mother pumpkin is coming back.