To my mother on her 60th birthday

I am good at things. Well, not too many things, but a select few (like being mean to Husband, or loving my dogs or not brushing my hair). But somehow in thinking about my mother, in thinking of a way to celebrate her, I feel desperately lacking.  It’s not that she’s set an impossible standard,Continue reading “To my mother on her 60th birthday”

My Mother, My Home

I’m looking for a picture. My mother is a teenager sitting at a dinner table and everything about her is defiant. From the straight line of her forearm, elbow propped on the table, chin cradled in hand, to the look of disdain in her eyes, eyes that stare right through the picture at me. EyesContinue reading “My Mother, My Home”