You came when a woman is usually past the messiness of a child with all its evolutionary prized self-centeredness and demand. You came and introduced fear into a life If not well lived, lived with adventure, risk; attempted without regret.…
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You would see she exists in defined space composed of small detail: apples, thread, car keys, what’s for dinner Wednesday. If she could move from thread and grocery lists to questions of destiny, love, death— but life interrupts in the…
My name is winter hanging on the hem of spring A mandarin red My mother’s name is long road blues A scattered red My father’s name is twisted psalm A gospel / not red I come from a shouting /…
We recently completed the process of responding to submissions for the upcoming issue of Mom Egg Review. This is always tough. We are all writers; we know how unpleasant it is to receive a “decline” response. So why do pieces…
So Mom, if you come there are rules: no talking about grandpa’s big C or making up your wacky stories. When you pack Christopher’s school lunch, don’t make peanut butter sandwiches, one of his friends might die, and no chocolate.…
My husband and I recently took Grace, who is seven, to see The Avengers. She had never seen a super hero movie before, and within two or three minutes, she was completely hooked. She reached her hands out to “touch”…
I am a maker. Thoughts are words, words are the building materials. I hesitate to say bricks as they, the words, I mean, are as malleable as play-do, as changeable as water. I am, though, inert. My being is set,…
Hire the twelve year old from next door: Helen of Troy with azure eyes rimmed with black lashes. She loves kids, her mother says. She cuddles the two-year-old, Invites the five-year-old to build puzzles And ram cars against each other.…
I dream I walk through a desert of stone. It once took months for letters to reach their recipients; packages of supplies to pass foreign customers – worlds gone by. Bananas were posted to prevent scurvy and luck-charms embroidered slowly.…
An afternoon curling around us, not my house nor yours for tea– we sit in a borrowed mansion, the two grantees—one a painter trying to stop nomads from running. the other a writer talking about eyes, how they show what…