Our Mother and the Bees at A-Minor

“Every time she cut our hair, after my brother and I had been carefully brushed clean, she gathered the blond hanks from the kitchen linoleum and rolled them between her palms. She carried these small skeins cradled in her apron, out the back door. She buried them there, in the same place where she dropped all of the tiny crescent moons of our nail clippings into the earth.

Our mother was not well. She pinched herself, and spoke to the bees…”

Read it, in A-Minor’s Sixth Anniversary special issue: Our Mother and the Bees.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s