MonthFebruary 2015

My Mother’s Home

I never recognized it as an intentional choosing, my mother never speaking of dreams to be anywhere else; to go anywhere else. She is complicated, my mother, with layers of complexity, yet never telling her story—none other than than the well-rehearsed bits. Mama seems to live by default and without complaint, determined to overcome and conquer nature. It’s what she’s had the energy to do—that and to keep breathing. And to keep food on the table and the basement shelves stocked, to teach […]

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