Tag Archives: mother

Kitchen

I gratefully hop out of the dry radiator heat on the 32 bus and crossed Henry Avenue, up the front steps, around the side yard, and unlock the back door. I am the first one home. After dropping the backpack … Continue reading

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Vigil

As a parent, I revel in my farsightedness. I step far back to capture all the dimensions that my last born lives in.  He is seven, almost eight, and has his father’s commune with mathematics. Momma, when I close my … Continue reading

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