Pineapple Love by Rebecca Klassen
Mum dropped a chunk into her mouth; eyes rolled back like when she eats Milk Tray.
Mum dropped a chunk into her mouth; eyes rolled back like when she eats Milk Tray.
The hospital never sleeps. Even in darkness, light from the corridor slips under my door like floodwater. Footsteps squeak along vinyl floors.
Queued for my sentencing, I reflected, like catechism taught us. The forgiven fingered their beads, tallying grace like dues. Stained glass flared—Moses, alight with judgment, mid-swing. Had I broken one? More?
1. Cloud Cover
“You’re pretty cumulus,” said my boyfriend, the meteorologist, and I asked if he meant I was heavenly.