Blood Kin
“A poison-green apple, like the kind we used to grow in the back garden of my mother’s house. She remembers them, of course. It was a small miracle that anything could push its way through that ground, so sandy it couldn’t be called soil. The fruit always tasted salty; perhaps the water table had been contaminated by sea water. There was a mulberry bush in the back too, a thriving plant that unfurled leaves textured like the surface of a brain, and my brother and I fed those to his silkworms unt...il he swapped the worms for marbles with a boy at school. We would dare each other to put a worm on our tongue and see who could bear the soft, blind wriggling the longest – once he swallowed one by accident and examined his stool meticulously the next day to see if it would emerge alive. He cut out small shapes from cardboard – stars, hearts, circles – and put them in the silkworm box that he’d punched repeatedly with a knitting needle so that the worms could breathe; slowly they spun according to his demands, desperate for something to attach their silk to, and then he hung these silken shapes from a mobile above his bed.MoreLess
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