My mother is a pair of hands first; a blurred figure, a face I tilt my neck back to see. The flash of a smile, a pair of arms that reach around me and lift.
Birth
It’s hard to find a place to start, a moment in which to pinpoint the change; the feeling of going from pregnant me to mother, the moment in which my son went from being a part of me to being a person in his own right.
Drivers Ed
I waited for an opening, blinker on, foot easing down on the gas. I took the first opportunity and the speedometer began to climb.
Dead Fish
My three year old brother explored the beach, armed with his red plastic pail and a little yellow shovel: the tools of all children taken to the seashore for a day.