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Stained Childhood
by Dawn Coutu

 

My mother lay dead on the patio,
two strides from where we celebrated

Mother's Day with child-made oatmeal
and flower bouquets. Her blood seeped

through the floorboards where my oldest brother
and I shared intimate conversations

amidst horseflies and impending rainclouds.
I closed out the scene only to wake up

crusty-eyed, without siblings.