bleeding heart

The mark

It’s not like she could readily erase her mark. She made sure her clothing covered it, as the law dictated. Wearing long sleeves and high collars in the summer made her stand out, but she could play it off as modesty. The stigma of carrying the mark, surely, was clear on her face. She knew…

Permafrost

In the spring, when the days grow longer and the reawakening sun melts away the bitter cold of winter, yellow poppies bloom. There, at the junction where the tree line of an ancient stand of long needle pines form a fertile triangle with the sandy marsh trail and the bayou shore, is where I buried…