Bury Our Bones in the Midnight Soil

by V.E. Schwab

Only later did her mother say that not all sins were boulders, that most in fact were more like pebbles.

“Bury my bones in the midnight soil, plant them shallow but water them deep, and in my place will grow a feral rose, soft red petals hiding sharp white teeth.”

Summer days were made for poetry. Daydreaming in verse.