Thursday, April 29, 2010

Writing Practice for Rhoda Jane

Grief is a howling hollow echoing in my belly.
Unlike depression which is just an empty hole.
It's my mother telling me her stories of sorrows, loss and longing,
by the glow of her cigarette and the dim light of late night TV,
as she lies on the couch, me on the floor next to her,
because she's too scared to sleep in her room alone.
While my dad's in Vietnam,
I keep her company.

3 comments:

dosfishes said...

Nice piece of prose, very visual, I can picture you both
there in the late night...

lindsey said...

wow. i stand in awe. love love love that picture! it made me dig up old photos of my mom.

xoxo

Lindy Gruger Hanson said...

You draw me in with your writing...in my mind, I see you both there. I see a story beginning with that paragraph and it makes me want to read more.