Creative Nonfiction: Reddening by Lena Crown
It was the first time in years that I’d altered anything about my appearance.
It was the first time in years that I’d altered anything about my appearance.
You will act as if it is normal each time she unleashes her personal pain upon you.
I’d tell you not to think about these things, but the stories are there inside of you, festering for years, all pus and mold.
I look at him crying and I feel deeply worried. About his future. About anyone’s.
I’ll never stop missing what has been taken from me.
I’d see it, there, the name for me, there, above the little box.
A eucalyptus will grow to six feet in the blink of an eye and when that happens I will have to donate it, but Google doesn’t say where.
My mother and I drop bunch after bunch into the bowls like dark chandeliers.
I trusted my mother completely, the way a balloon trusts its string.
The truth is that when you die, you die, forever and ever amen.