The daisies turn their white faces up to the sun, and the astronaut’s wife and her littlest niece lie in the gaps between them.
Tia, says the littlest niece. She always says Tia, she always hums little songs.
Tia, says the littlest niece, and her smile is sweet as sugared cherries.
The astronaut’s wife has been watching the clouds float in the sky, thinking of soap bubbles and sparrow wings. . .