All I have is showers and coffee and writing. And sometimes I’m sure I can’t even write anymore. And sometimes the water doesn’t get hot enough. And I can’t make the coffee taste right lately. So what is there left for me?
A mother’s soul is complex and beautiful. A mother’s mind is scattered and loving. I want my children to know they were loved and cherished. To have the memory of a mother’s voice sung and words read and rhymed. I hope they will feel it was soup for the soul. This mother’s heart aches when she has a traveler’s soul and the love for a land she’s never been. But she wouldn’t dare leave while these children need her the same way they need water and food. She will stay for them because they’ve got memories like elephants and she wouldn’t want any bit of them to be sour. The youngest, his name has four letters; the oldest, his has five. When she speaks of them, she speaks of love.