This work was published in 2019. Read in Alexandria Quarterly.
For Reina, for always
You know a witch once loved me, the old woman says. The fire gives off an occasional crack; you’re thinking of Juniper berries. She looks at her hands. I held her whole body in a box: her ribboned veins, her envelope skin, her rose hip teeth. The night falls softly down. She told me once that Love is not only for lovers. The powdery scent of witchcraft fills the house: sweet, tinged with what you’re thinking of. There is a child sleeping on the floor. I’ve loved a lot of people, the woman says. She sees supermarket aisles, bones tied to pine trees, fingers striking matches. I’ve loved a lot. The child stirs like cauldron soup, in a dream and yet somehow still present.
