Still Not Seeing Anything

The only person who ever outplayed me wore a bonnet.

Somebody left a bottle and a pack of cigarettes in the Millers' field. Right where the bishop takes his Sunday walk. Right next to my rosary.

Not my bottle. Not my cigarettes. My rosary, though.

Rebecca Miller found them first.

She stood over them, hands folded, eyes down, like she was praying for my soul.

She was pricing it.

"Sister," she said. "I didn't see anything. For fifty dollars, I'll keep not seeing anything."

I paid. Then I paid again in June. And in August.

That girl has no electricity, no telephone and no car.

She has a savings account, a lawyer, and my rosary.

Every Christmas she sends me a card.

It says: Still not seeing anything.

Photographed, not generated. Salton Sea, 1 May 2016.

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