Cutting Fence | Beth Moulton

It was the fences that killed them. When the surprise October blizzard swept over the Black Hills, thousands of cattle died, trapped against almost invisible wire fences. If they had gotten out they may have found shelter. Instead, they froze to death or suffocated from the bulk of each other. Over the next week the fences were cut and the animals, tangled forever in some parody of affection, were buried in massive trenches. 

It’s late. They’re home. The burying is done. She pulls the work gloves from her small hands. Her wedding ring, nicked and marred, shines against her skin. It’s been there so long it’s worn a groove in her finger. He is in the other room, sitting without moving in the last minutes of daylight. The sun sets quickly this time of year; soon he is just a shadow in the corner. She pulls, slowly but firmly, until the ring releases its grip and works free.   

Beth Moulton earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Rosemont College in Rosemont, PA, where she was fiction editor for the Rathalla Review. Her work has appeared in Affinity CoLab, The Drabble, Milk Candy Review, Fifty Women Over Fifty Anthology and other journals. She lives near Valley Forge, PA with her cats, Lucy and Ethel.