They Laughed When I Bought 600 Moldy Pumpkins for My Father’s Pigs

Outside, the wind moved across the new fence line and through the walnut trees. In the distance, the creek ran over stones that had waited decades for someone to remember where the truth belonged.

I went to the barn and split a pumpkin clean in two.

The flesh inside was bright, solid, and sweet.

The pigs came running.