Lena St. Clair

    tle, my motold me my great-grandfatenced a beggar to die in t possible  later t-grandfat, or er.

    I used to play out t moments over and over again in my ioner strip off t and lead o t;traitor,quot; read tioner, quot;is sentenced to die ts.quot; But before o er, my great-grandfatily put back toget;As tting me do; said t, quot;I t t I  I  is on t; And t-grandfato s .

    I once asked my mot;In bed, very quickly, after being sick for only t;

    quot;No, no, I mean t? Did to cs?quot;

    quot;Anns in your mind?quot; cried my mot;t man  seventy years.  does it matter ;

    I al it mattered, to kno possible t can o you, to knoo not be draerrors t surrounded our  cil s dark corner of ill tcil s.

    As I remember it, t in our old ried to  from me. S ypes of key locks. And it became so mysterious t I spent all my energies unraveling til to pry it open o immediately fall o t er I stopped screaming—I ell me about t and ed five babies in me and ten us all in a six-course meal, tossing our bones on ty floor.

    And after t I began to see terrible t of me I got from my mot ligo strike dotle cle ly squasricycle. And  sc. Monkey rings t  in tet could splas of laughing friends.

    I didnt tell anyone about t even my mot people didnt kno. Clair.  sa I looked like my fate at time. But if t ts. Instead of s, mine  ra my coloring looked too pale, like somet was once darker and he sun.

    And my eyes, my motern  cuts of a s knife. I used