Tagged: mother’s day

because there is no

we remain eight-tenths

remember that year

remember that year
when one stem of a peony
cost an entire

piano lesson, how young
we were back then, how present

last, but not least, my

my mother’s touch is

the things we inherit

the things we inherit
from our mothers
sometimes arrive
dull, like a distant
reflection that require
polishing. the
very same moment
arrives for everyone –
in front of a hot stove,
looking down into
the swirling
contents – one pinch
or two? chopped
or diced? did she
or didn’t she?


motherhood is a