I wrote this piece years ago, when my mother was still alive, and when I used to document our time together, to try and make sense of things.
A old conversation with my mother, who remembered the time she accidentally destroyed my favorite doll.
A piece about how it’s really impossible to judge anyone because it’s impossible to understand the whole story of what’s going on.
17 minutes inside the mind of a tired and isolated mother-of-a-toddler.
This story is about the time my paranoid mother became homeless and took a bus to NYC to be with me. It was published by So to Speak Journal: language + feminism + art where it was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. It can be read there at the link below.
