Sarah Maria Griffin: Eat Your Heart Out
by Elizabeth C. Creely
Oh, yeah. This is great.
My mother cuts a hole in the bottom of a black plastic bag, and places it over my head. I surface, my hands by my side, the deep smell of it all over me. She cuts a hole at each shoulder for my arms, which I pull through. The kitchen scissors at the time had a deep red handle and long, blunt blades. You can see the sleeves of my sweater now, pink and teal and patterned. Mam tapes me in at the waist with sellotape to give an illusion of a skirt. It almost goes to my feet – my ankles, my white socks, my shiny patent leather shoes from Clarks. My eyebrows are penciled dark, a long, severe plastic nose from the pound shop placed over my own – the elastic white and catching in my hair, still curly, still mouse brown. On my head she crowns…
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