“You couldn’t keep one man happy?” she asked, the morning after I arrived.
“But you said I would rather crawl than apologize,” she continued, her voice breaking. “So I am crawling. Here I am. On my hands and knees. Because I do not know how to be a soft mother. I only know how to be a strong one. And I was so strong that I became a stone. And I made you live in the shadow of a stone.” the day my mother made an apology on all fours
It was a ragged, breathless sound, completely stripped of its usual melodic authority. She was weeping, her shoulders shaking violently under her wet blouse. “You couldn’t keep one man happy
The dustpan slipped from my hand. Shards scattered again, tiny green teeth across the floor. She didn’t flinch. Neither of us moved. Here I am