Mother Needs
by Elena Zhang
The children were coming, and she needed to be ready. Needed to build skin, layer by layer. Cushions of dermis so thick she could see the strata over time, like a canyon wall clock. She softened wrinkled leather into supple bruised peach peels. Salted her abscission. When they came, they came hungry. Stripped it all away. One bite at a time. Revealed orange sunsets, pink blushes. There was so little of her left, dripping sweetly and alone amongst many. In the end, she was glad. Now they would all see how raw she was underneath.
Elena Zhang is a Chinese American writer and mother living in Chicago. Her work can be found in HAD, The Citron Review, and Flash Frog, among other publications. She is a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, and was selected for Best Microfiction 2024 and 2025.