Sweet Remedy

By Jeniah Johnson

March 27, 2023

Sweet Remedy

I slipped downstairs when the backdoor slammed, her boyfriend gone for the night. "My tummy," I cried running to my mother for a hug.

"Stop!" She held up a hand. "Broken glass." Grabbing me under the arms, she swooped me on the counter, my favorite spot for tea. "Ginger or mint?" she asked.


Her nighty glowed in the dim light as she filled the kettle from the tap. Long fingers tweezed in a mason jar of golden buds picked from the scars of stones. Two pinches filled the silver strainer. Her nails tapped, tapped on my bunny mug, waiting for the boil.

The kettle spit, hissed as it poured. I squeezed the honey bear so hard the plastic snapped back with a crack. She gasped, then laughed, blew steam from my cup.


Jeniah lives in rural Vermont where she is working on a memoir. 


Image by Ehud Neuhaus courtesy of Unsplash

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