-
Raging at the Fruit
Tiffany Promise Death appears at my door with a fistful of roses. Plastic bags tug at her wrists, but she won’t let me see what’s inside. I imagine a heart-shaped box full of tiny bones, a ribbon of molted snakeskin, chocolate-covered somethings. “Cherry,” she growls, pushing me inside the house, hard against the hallway wall. My…
