excerpt from "pieces of memory"

one of many parts of a short story i wrote, now in finery 5.

*

Vivian dreams.

…

..

.

I’m

a thousand ways of repeating the same apology,

doing the same thing

an infinite loop of regret

with feathers

bursting from my shoulder blades

sharp and delicate fragments of white

disintegrate as though made of ash

the gray ends of gold-red sex

as I fall

into my grandmother’s garden, the

uneven hills of dirt hiding cabbage, narcissus, peonies, orchids,

oranges, snakes with glittering eyes –

My grandmother strokes my hair, and

she smells like the plums that hang heavy in the air, deep purple like organs in the sunlight

their insides golden and wet.
She has both her arms, the left arm amputated during the war hanging whole and unblemished

the skin as white as milk.
I wonder if we’re both dead.

She smiles, revealing even gold teeth, and says,

Don’t run.

Everything turns dark, and I’m breathing

alone.

….

..

.

Vivian wakes up gasping.

The room smells like plums.

-CVN