by Victoria Briggs
Mother Newman made a pâté from placenta, blending the crimson meat till it was butter smooth. She fried it in a skillet, adding salt for seasoning and a bay leaf for luck. Then she twisted the birth cord into a heart shape to top the pâté off with love.
The feeding guests gathered around the Moses Basket, all cooing to the newborn with bared teeth and sing-song voices.
On their brown breath, the warm scent of something now forever lost. The baby’s face, a chubby concertina of pink indignant flesh, howled his grief to the cannibal crowd: ‘Your lunch belonged to me once.’
Victoria Briggs is a writer with work published in UK and US literary journals, websites and anthologies. She lives in London and previously won the UK’s Asham Award for women writers.You can find her tweeting at @vicbriggs and blogging at motherpussbucket.wordpress.com.