Prose

When you see the word “choice,” you might first think about the emphasis of the “pro-choice” proponents on free will, as opposed to the sanctity of life that its opponents emphasize or the privacy aspect that was the basis for…

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Two years after my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, my brother and I moved her from her house in River Vale, New Jersey, to a nearby dementia unit called Memory Lane. I wish I could say it was the hardest…

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“I wonder if my children will ever really know me?” My friend, mother of four, grandmother of many, asked me this when she was sixty-something. At this time she had become a certified counselor for elders encouraging them to uncover…

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There are Mothers of Invention, Motherlodes, Holy Mothers, Mother #%*!-ers & Mother tongues. We give birth to a child, a book, a business venture or a song. We are born, reborn & born again. While the umbilical cord that connected…

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My fifth grader thinks she’s slick when we are getting ready for school, that if her lip gloss is subtly applied, or combined with a lighter shade, I won’t notice her slightly rosier lips as we are heading out the…

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I’ve been birthing a collection of poems about raising a gay daughter since she came out at fifteen. That was four years ago. I didn’t realize I was writing a collection on this theme but my role as mother had…

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When was your last colonoscopy? the tidy, compact gynecologist inquired, a man so devoid of sexual aura that he can stand fully clothed over your naked spread-eagled body without a hint of inappropriateness. Um, never, I answered as he fondled…

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