Category Archives: Copeland, Lydia

Muslin

by Lydia Copeland

I stab myself on the lemon tree. I’m after Sweet Peas, the pink one in the red clay along the bank where the kitchen scraps are tossed three times a day. “Here, Tom!” says Ma, and the cats come bouncing from beneath the house or from inside the boat that sits in the sunny part of the yard. I squeeze my finger until a globe of blood swells out. (more…)