My mother's hands were always wet when I was a child. Perhaps not always, but that's the way it seems in retrospect. Wether it was from cooking, cleaning, or giving one of her children a bath; the notebook by the phone was always left with little finger smudges. My school reports always corrected with dripping pencil in hand. A thorough inspection of swollen tonsils under our working kitchen light, left my cheeks dripping. Random embraces left perfect handprints settling into my clothes. I know my adolescent eyes must have rolled, if I'd only known what a comforting memory it turned out to be.
4 comments:
*snaps*
And what a quick turn-around on my request - thanks for posting (it's good stuff).
What a beautiful memory. It reminds me of a poem someone wrote that had the line "my mother raised bread dough and little girls" or something like that.
You have a wonderful, poignant style.
this is beautiful.
what a rad tribute to your mom.
and what an awesome photo to go along with it! love it!
Wow, this is such a beautiful passage. You should absolutely submit it to Common Ties-- they are writing a book about life's little snippets. Although the website is strangely down right now, maybe it will be back up by the time you read this. (commonties.com)
-- lindsay
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