When my mother speaks, there is a sound that only I recognize. It weaves through crowded rooms and difficult days. It slips by startling laughter and under closed doors. It even resonates in the air when there are no words being said. Lingering, as if she were still nearby, going about her day.
My Mother
My Mother
My Mother
When my mother speaks, there is a sound that only I recognize. It weaves through crowded rooms and difficult days. It slips by startling laughter and under closed doors. It even resonates in the air when there are no words being said. Lingering, as if she were still nearby, going about her day.