Review by Sandra Ramos O’Briant – “Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.” -Alexander Pope Sarah Cavallaro’s Dogs Have Angels Too could be renamed “Leader of the Pack or How I Lost Everything, and Found Myself.” Here’s why: Lena is a fifty-seven year old account executive who has spent more than half her adult life at one New York Corporation when she is laid off. She loses her Upper East End apartment, her husband, and the $250,000 in her 401k to Madoff Securities. Oh, and menopause adds the final flourish to the cascading…
Author: Mom Egg Review
Women Writing on Family: Tips on Writing, Teaching and Publishing, edited by Carol Smallwood and Suzann Holland; and Teachers Act Up!: Creating Multicultural Learning Communities Through Theatre, by Melisa Cahnmann-Taylor and Mariana Souto-Manning Review by Ivy Rutledge In Women Writing on Family, Carol Smallwood and Suzann Holland have selected essays written by women with a variety of interests and experiences, creating a valuable guidebook. For most women, writing is a solitary practice, and this book reads like a much-needed conversation with a room full of mentors. The collection starts off with a topic geared to writers of sensitive material, which…
Like the memory deepest hidden, it drives you The you you can’t put down make sleep smother under logic The pilot light inside burning away the shapes and masks that sell you this story– a spinning web of deja vus and absurdities It presses you to Witness funnel every whirlwind through your mind’s eye until from your heart is wrung a battle song But then you see their hungry mouths reflections of your mouth and you bend lower to hear their tugging questions which are also your questions even now So you cradle them in your mother’s laugh and pretend…
transfer, held damply in her hand, the snow melting where her cap (nearly) met her coat, her scarf left where (behind), shed like the skin of a snake, useless as an escape tool, however jauntily it was wrapped, the pantone color the blue of a Mediterranean summer once seen in a postcard, the demarcation of blue and white wavering beneath her eyes and her feet ache, now, in the warmth of the bus, the slow thawing an agony she distracts herself from by repeating one line, then the next, as regular as the telephone poles she passes, one, then another,…
Hearing your heart beat Quick, definite, determined Inside of me The first time I knew instantly That you would be My moon child, My daughter For your room I bought A fairy Lounging on a Crescent moon You came At night— Moon, On its way To full When you began To speak, “Circle!” You pointed at its Silvery splendor Later: “Where did moon go?” Or “Mommy, the moon!” In daylight, Paradoxical, Standing equal With the sun As I know You will Recently, You ate the lovely Luna, Pronouncing it, “Yummy.” “A piece, mommy?” You offered. And it was delicious. “I…
Excerpts from a photo essay by Hester Jones, “CALL YOURSELF A MOTHER.” View more photographs of this essay and more of Hester’s other work at www.hesterjones.com. Hester Jones is a British artist, based in London. She graduated from MA Photography, London College of Communication, 2009. Her work is an ongoing investigation into representations of the feminine and culturally constructed gendered identities, from childhood to adolescence, motherhood, and beyond, disrupting the idealized romantic portrayals of femininity as found in Media and more traditional forms of representation. She is interested in the performative and participatory qualities of photography. Hester has exhibited in…
Between Greenwich and Cambridge, Cambridge to Arlington The brightly lit hills rise. Reds and yellows smart the eyes. She’s bored but tuned in, marking time with teen divas Even behind my sunglasses, the color rends. There are fields still as green as Oz. I struggle with the flaming hues. From 313 the Battenkill winds and sparkles, While we agree on tunes. Fields and carts of pumpkins and the Peepers taking pictures, rags snapping on clotheslines, flags On doorways. “Dad says I can dye my hair.” A laugh, pause, “Black.” She is “Nutmeg” now He doesn’t know, so subtle Secretive, we’ve…
There are moments in life where we hit a new level of independence and experience growth so significant that it changes our reality. I had one last night that was so strong it reminded me of leaving adolescence. My husband and I co –parent; when I go out at night there is no need to tell my husband what my son will have for dinner, what his routine is or when he should go upstairs to bed. I walk out the door give them both a kiss, tell them that I love them and don’t worry about how things are…
The thought of dragging herself and her baby to the store rubbed against her nerves all morning. But the leaking faucet in the kitchen sink made the trip to the giant box a necessity today. And the longer she put it off, the worse it would be. The sun embraced them as they stepped into the warm summer air and she felt almost hopeful when they arrived. “Good morning,” she said with a smile to the first person she saw. She certainly had been guilty of not even trying to smile too often to remember. She kept smiling. At store…