Rose Mallow, and Marigold Rot
a short story
Remember the burn of the leaf, the way it dragged slow like it didn’t want to let go of something in your blood. Running through the corn, arms up to protect our faces from the razor leaves, bending, reaching down.
Bursting out of the path through the weeds, rolling over in the grass, laughing—we had these long arcs—rub…
