Angela Joynes
Listen to Angela read her story
On the flats along the Cold Stream among fiddleheads, violets, and trilliums, bloomed the delicate white flower Mama swore to be poison.
I clung to my memories because when I was ten, she up and died. Aneurysm. No warning about death or her brother. Nothing.
When I was thirteen, Uncle Gordon began showing up. After another one of his visits, I uprooted those plants. I rinsed the bloody, muddy mess, and with a cleaver I minced, then sautéed them with onions into a pot of spaghetti sauce, a separate pot for Uncle Gordon, because he liked it hot. He liked it spicy.
He slurped the pasta with gusto producing three loud garlicky burps. Not the vomiting, coma, or death Mama promised.
But at sixteen, I discovered water hemlock.
Angela Joynes (she/her) is a disabled Canadian writer living in Tennessee. Words in The Ilanot Review, Susurrus, Fictive Dream, South 85, Hot Flash Literary and others. Angela holds a BA, MD, and a Certificate in Creative Writing. Nominated for Pushcart, Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction.
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