Stolen from my blog
  1. My grandmother's killed every man that's laid a hand on her.
    Papa smurf, the last, is dead. She won’t even go back home to New Orleans because she knows the Antoines will set fire to the whole city with their faces painted and a pig’s head on a stick, ready to make her body a leathery, aged sacrifice.
  2. My grandfather picked my grandmother in her prime, wedged a spigot in her bones, and drank the life from her.
    She died in a crash when my mother was 13. Her ghost sits on his shoulders and weighs his bony body down, making it so he can’t run when the young girls prance down the dirt road and coo his name so they can suck his limbs dry.
  3. My mother was fucking a married man.
    They chased each other around the world, yelling and screaming and making the earth quiver the whole way round. She made him leave, took his first born in as her own, had a small child with doe eyes and a big mouth from him, then another with a button nose and pointed ears… Little split-tailed minxes.
  4. The ghost of every wronged lover now sits atop my family tree, moaning, no longer in pain, but to mimic my sobs.
    The puddle of tears that gathers in the soil around the trunk helps the branches at the top stretch wider, making room for when I’ll fuck my way through love and leave bodies in my wake.