From the Bookshelf of Around the World in 80 Books…

Spikes grew along the back of my ribcage, made me cough, and I took her hand. It was soft like mine. There we were, me and my sister, our bodies inseparable. There is nothing that escapes blood.

I looked into Lizzie’s rounded eyes: a pupil dilated, the corner of her right eye twitched.

“What happened today, Lizzie?” I needed to hear it all, did not want to hear it all.

“Nobody would understand.” Lizzie looked past my shoulder towards the guest room.

I leaned closer. “What happened?”

“I can’t

Spikes grew along the back of my ribcage, made me cough, and I took her hand. It was soft like mine. There we were, me and my sister, our bodies inseparable. There is nothing that escapes blood.

I looked into Lizzie’s rounded eyes: a pupil dilated, the corner of her right eye twitched.

“What happened today, Lizzie?” I needed to hear it all, did not want to hear it all.

“Nobody would understand.” Lizzie looked past my shoulder towards the guest room.

I leaned closer. “What happened?”

“I can’t be too sure.” Lizzie’s breath was fire in my ear.

“What did you see today?”

“They asked me that too. Why are you treating me like this?” Her voice on the edge of a song and scream. I did not want to be the one to push her over.

“I’m sorry. The police haven’t told me anything. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“I found him on the sofa. Resting.” She said it like she was solving a jigsaw.

“And?”

“I wasn’t really sure then.”

Lizzie’s hand grew heavier in mine. The room was silent. Outside, a bird warbled sunny times. I let go of Lizzie and thought about what was left unsaid. I wished to be inside her mind, see everything from underneath her bones, eyes, skin.

I breathed in kerosene air, licked the thickness from my teeth.


I wiped my hand across my mouth, tasted blood.


I wiped my hand across my mouth, licked my teeth.


Bridget came down, brought with her the smell of decayed meaty-meat.


Summer heat ran up my neck like a knife.


Bridget began to cry and strange feelings popped across my bones.


My teeth were cold against my teeth.


I went to the pail of water by the well, let my hands sink into the cool sip sip. I brought my hands to mouth and began drinking, lapping with my tongue.


On the kitchen counter were johnnycakes. I wormed my fingers into their middles until they became small pieces of flour-rocks. I threw a handful of johnnycakes against the wall, listened to them crash in stale waves.


Mrs. Churchill slowed into the kitchen, rubbed her fat, clean fingers over her red-queen cheeks,


Her chest heaved, soft, child-suckled breasts, I waited for her heart to burst through ribcage onto the kitchen floor.


I could hear her breathe, could hear saliva swish thick over her gums,


My palm itched. I thought of using my teeth to scratch,


She poured water from a jug and handed me a cup. The water looked cloud warm.


His voice smooth, honey-milked.


She started to cry, made a whirlwind sound.


looked down at myself, noticed a soft, gray pigeon feather stuck on my skirt. I picked it off, rubbed it between my fingers, got all hot and boiled.


I stuffed the pigeon feather into my palm, carried it like love.


Bridget looked me over, her caterpillar eyebrows cracked like earth, and the second officer took notes, took notes.


I opened my eyes wide, felt the house move left then right as the heat ground into walls.


Everyone pulled at their necks to unloose their tightly wound clothing.


Inside my head a butcher pounded all sense out of my ears and onto the dining table.


Bridget stood from her chair, pulled her dirt-white skirt away from the backs of her thighs


noticed tiny droplets of blood sitting on my fingers. I put them to my nose then my mouth. I licked, tasted Father, tasted myself. I swallowed.


I looked down at my skirt, discovered blood spots. I stared at the stains, watched them become rivers across my lap, I know these rivers! and I thought of the times I played in the Quequechan

Helen had made banana pancakes,

On Father’s insistence I went with cousins, Bordens of blood and of marriage who I barely spoke to back at home,