Elizabeth Horner Turner's writing has appeared in many journals, and most recently in Fairy Tale Review’s Translucent Issue. Past awards for her work include scholarships to Sewanee Writers' Conference and Tin House Writer’s Workshop. She has earned degrees from Hamilton College, School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and Sarah Lawrence College. She lives in San Francisco.
A Personal Ouija Board
As they say, one day Flaxie’s mother woke up dead.
Well, woke up dead and wet and gushy, but of this:
Was it of her own accord? So often things
tinkle in a fairy world that glass breaking
stirs no one, but now that’s cause for a double check—
hospital standards and all the nursing folk
under inspection. Gone is gone, dead is dead,
and people cluck and shake their shame for each cause
the same. Flaxie knew this was coming, daughters
often know, that very day, her wings paused, shook,
and zoomed her right to the ground. A nasty cut
above her brow and the walk towards home was windy.
She picked flowers to tuck in her mother’s
bed. The scent floating over each lacy
pillowcase.