by Erin McKnight

The last time my hands explored my chest, I wasn’t bothered by its flatness. My chubby fingers were so focused on tracing the raised threads of the dress’s embossed flowers that they didn’t notice what was missing. But back then, of course, nothing was. It isn’t until I’m in the surgical gown that I find a ragged thread and remember the daisies. As my fingertips twist the strand, I wonder whether it’s a remnant of the decorative stitches once loosened by growing breasts, and which now hold closed my mutilated chest. Flowers will again bloom.


Erin McKnight was born in Scotland, and raised in South Africa. She is an assistant editor for The Rose & Thorn, and has recently been accepted into an MFA program. Her writing currently appears in Siren: A Literary & Art Journal and Diddledog, and is forthcoming in Ginosko and The Rose & Thorn. She now lives in Virginia, where she is at work on a collection of flash fiction.

1 comment:

Lesley said...

Such a beautifully written piece. (And I loved "Clean Sheets!")