by K. S. Nelson

Suli lies curled in the nest of pillows she calls a bed, under the heap of tattered blankets that smell like sour socks and a bit like berries because he’d poured cherry soda on them when she said she didn’t want to drink.

He might still be home. She can’t tell because the door deafens the discord enough that if she lies perfectly still only her spine aches.

Her fingers twitch, tightening around her shawl, hand-painted in a bruising violet and reptilian green. The balm’s sting still lingers, drawing tears like Nani’s fierce embrace.

Remember, my jaan, […]