The Seed

The seed came from deep inside my mother’s skull, amongst the dead brain matter and nestled gently against the brain stem.

Grief had set in as soon as she finally died, humid and unshakable. But it was the concoction of grief paired with the anger of realising I was relieved that drove me to peel the top of her head open. The seed was small, no larger than a blueberry, black as tar and speckled with green. As I held it in my palm under the tap in the bath where her body lay, washing away blood and gristle, the lenticular spots reflected the garish fluorescent overhead lights.