when does broken stop being beautiful? my ma asks over her honeybee tea. i think about it long and hard. my legs are still trembling from running away the fifth time this week. my chin is cased in dried blood and i gasp for breath hoping to seek mortality.

     i look at my ma. this town has been ours for too long. hollow fields of poppies and daisies. just the way my dad liked it. i drink in her eyes. sad and tired from so many children. my chest closes up and i feel like i've done something terrible. like robbed a liquor store or broken a heart. i can feel it crawling up my ribs , like gold dust spiders.
when it takes the ones you love, she whispers at me filled with something i can't quite describe.

i let myself drown in the words. i feel like i'm back at the lake, my legs entangled in the boys with sharp teeth. my hands whimpering under the moss. but-but this is home. my shoulders start to shake.  my eyes become the moonlight. sad and cold. please don't give up on me. she holds me into the new day.