The Write Time

I remember peering around the doorway watching each plate shatter, splintering into a ceramic snowstorm at the hands of my mother. For some reason my memory has omitted the sound. I see her mouth open wide, her eyes and nose dripping. I see the droplets merging with the flying debris as she furiously throws her weight into the devastation… [Read more here]

Published in the Same online literary journal, Issue 12.1, 6th August 2018.