First Memory of Mom
I don’t know my first memory of Mom.
I recall the photo and home movies: beehive hair, white mini. Was it when I cut my hand on that protruding stone at the daycare center? Was it the fleeting images of her cooking in our 52 Holland Avenue basement apartment? I can’t remember.
Or won’t.
her singing
of Ireland’s formation–
a nestled baby
Photo by Meghan Holmes
