“Transubstantiation” By Wendy BooydeGraaff
All day they trudge through the creek sludge, looking for a hair, a thread from her red slippers, a fingernail she bit off. Last night’s downpour washed the muddy banks slippery as the metal slide in the playground. One, two, three, four silhouettes against the colorless sky, all with army experience, wearing camouflage, tramping grids …