Our second night: a mama’s love

This second night of you — my arm, covered in dated pastel print, cradles your perfect head with its mouth rounded like an “O” and those cheeks mounds of just right dough. Your eyes are like your Mama’s, and they make the ground solid because I...

Burrito boy, he’s a bird

He is a 6 pound, 13 ounce flannel burrito and feels like blessed air in my arms. His dark brown hair peeks from a tiny yellow beanie, and closed eyelids dance dreams. I feel his hands and their thin skin, and I stroke his chin, and I tell him he is our special boy,...

A week of this life

This morning we will share anniversary breakfast, read hand-written cards and talk in low coffee voices though our youngest is already awake, sitting at the table with us, in the flickering morning candle light. We will tell her about the day we married and the white...

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