a different kind of loss
“They are parakeets,” the guard said. “Up in the tower? Yeah, those are parakeets.” “Oh really? I always thought it was parrots that lived in this cemetery.” “You can tell the difference by the way their tail feathers are shaped. If they’re pointed at the end, it’s a parakeet. If the feathers are spread out like a fan, then it’s a parrot. I should know. My lady was a parakeet.” “Yeah?” Zosia inched toward the exit. The sun beat down on us - exuberant, late-spring heat offering to furnish the sweltering summer to come. Greenwood Cemetery was green and pink, abloom with flowers, heavy with bees and humidity. It was hard to believe that just five weeks ago, Michael and I had trekked through this place in the monochrome of snow, clouds, and granite. I shaded my face with my hand. “She’s buried over there.” The guard gestured over to a modestly sized catacomb near his booth. Topped with a green copper roof and