His ghost looms over my shoulder as a sailor pockets my wedding ring and promises me passage.

The sailor’s cigarette glows orange, embers eating tobacco down to the filter.

A push, and the lake eats him, too.

If I sail far enough, my husband whispers, I will find him waiting.

Jessica Zmuda is an anthropology graduate, museum enthusiast, and aspiring author living in St. Louis. She shares these on Instagram at @jess.reads.too.much.