You give her a receipt for a lifetime of mothering just before you warehouse her. A quirky joke, but she takes it seriously, folding the paper into an origami bird. She puts it on her windowsill with the others─ invoices, requisitions, the receipt for her husband’s ashes. The forsythia outside, with its struggle of buds, its longing, its multiplications, scratches at the window as if wanting to come in. When you try to raise the glass, your mother stops you. The line of paper birds seems poised to fly away as soon as she is ready. Not yet, she says.
Paul Freeman
26/1/2024 02:34:15 pm
Not sure I got everything, but I liked what I read.
Sue Clayton
27/1/2024 04:05:49 am
A receipt for a lifetime of mothering, something we should give all our mothers.
Christa Loughrey
27/1/2024 09:53:50 am
I love this idea of having meaningful papers turned into origami birds. Neat ending, too.
Cheryl Snell
28/1/2024 01:23:28 am
Thanks you very much for reading this, Tony Paul, Sue and Christa. I appreciate it! Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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