Photo by Hanna Lazar on Unsplash
Lisabetta’s brothers beheaded her lover Lorenzo in a garden of lilac just past bloom. Deep they dug him down and deep she dug him up. Wrapped his head in a veil of gold, nestled it in a terracotta pot. Dark humus, seeds of basil, tears of salt. Roots flow down and stems flow up, pierce flesh where there’s flesh to pierce. Lorenzo, webbed in fine roots, Lisabetta, wrapped in glossy leaves, bound together far past bloom.
Sarah Starr Murphy’s writing has appeared in The Threepenny Review, River Styx, Epiphany, and elsewhere. One of her stories was listed as a special mention in the 2025 Pushcart Prize Anthology. She’s managing editor for The Forge Literary Magazine.
