Get our newsletters
Keyword: Christine McKee

My Cloak

At the moment of his death, all the painthat had pulverized his body lifted, woven into a cape of worsted,roughly knotted wool, furled above me, alit, and stitched onto my body. I struggled to stand, …

Currently viewing stories posted within the past 2 years.
For all older stories, please use our advanced search.

X