Burial Rites

by Hannah Kent

I have stopped bleeding. I am no longer a woman.

my dreams taken with my belongings to pay for my custody.

I so often feel that I am barely here, that to feel weight is to be reminded of my own existence.

As though prayer could simply pluck sin out. But any woman knows that a thread, once woven, is fixed in place; the only way to smooth a mistake is to let it all unravel.

God knows I have met enough men to know that once weaned off the breast they begin to lie through their teeth.

first time in my life, someone saw me, and I loved him because he made me feel I was enough.