Monday, June 27, 2011

My Mother's Apron

It smelled of bleach and boiled cabbage. It was the most comforting thing I remember about my mother. I had to have been at the most three years old. Whenever the world became too much for me to handle I would bury my face in her apron and wrap my arms around her legs or as much as I could get around them with my short arms. Sixty five years later it is as present as this right here right now. The world can be just as terrifying today but the only thing I can wrap my arms around is a memory.

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