Dear Hanna

by Zoje Stage

And I’ve stood in front of the mirror and opened my mouth so my jaws felt ready to unhinge . . . and this is what I’ve drawn. Me with my mouth open. And fingertips emerging from the dark cave of my throat, followed by an eye.

🧟‍♀️

She was self-aware enough to understand that she didn’t evolve like other people. She was never going to be fundamentally different from who she’d been at seven, when she’d tried to kill her mother.

Excuse me…. Seven?!?

She’d become a wine stain on everyone’s white tablecloth, unsure how to remove herself.