Tag Archives: mother
I was six when I found out I’d never become a super-hero. We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother, my father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading
Dreaming, a tactile lullaby by which to set course.
A woman’s worldview turned upside-down by cherish– As above, so below.
Adore, an infinite crush twinning souls by luminous merger.
How a mother loves, the same as how her heart breaks– River with no end.
Beneficent choir, singular, still entity– Mother’s multiverse.
I was six when I found out I’d never become a super hero. We were in the kitchen. Me, my mother and father. My father’s hand was around my mother’s throat. He had a wild, bloodshot, not-there look … Continue reading
It is a small thing, small matter, and yet, magnificent, profound, terrifying, yes, terrifying. She is now responsible for this thing, this love, her love has assumed a shape, a form, and it lies there, sleeping, not too far removed from … Continue reading
My mother had had a hard life. There have been many challenges, many obstacles, and in a sense you could trace their origins back to her father, her rapist. When your father is also your rapist your childhood … Continue reading
Amidst divisive riot, the clear sound of two tears mating upon the crest of a sunken cheek; a mother’s grief, near to fasting and silence, the warmest cross to inherit in holding the meek inviolate.