The Harvest of a Half-Known Life

I’ll never forget the taste of my mother’s marrow.

I think of it now, as I rub oil into the stiff, cracking heels of my shoes: how I scooped it still warm from the bone, like pale butter. How it lingered in my teeth for days after the harvesting.

approx. 6600 words

First published in Lightspeed — June 2019