Blood Knot: A story in Ploughshares

You are shelter and source, and this is the smell of only you. The hands that hold and lift and swaddle, the mouth that smiles and sings me, the eyes that look me into being: yours. This is the skin to skin. I cry to make the hungry stop and you come. This is the We.

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Helen Elaine Lee
Lesser Crimes: A story in Callaloo

Weekdays were often ravaged by the sounds of tearing down and building up and out, by sanders and nail guns, saws and drills. Aluminum ladders expanding and contracting. Grumbling motors and idling trucks. The incessant noise often made the newspaper column I worked on in my makeshift home office a mere aspiration.

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Helen Elaine Lee
Pomegranate: A Story in Solstice

Choosing, it’s like a pomegranate fruit. Maxine talked one up once and when she did, I could almost taste it, almost hold it in my hands, like this. Daddy used to bring one home and set it down on the kitchen table.  “Where’d you get that?”  I’d ask him, and he’d chuckle in his belly, like he’d done magic, and then admit he got it at the farmer’s market downtown. 

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