Hand-Me-Downs ~ Maggie Lawson


mother and child

So few memories have been written with absolute clarity. Most are faint odours, the lingering fragrance of blooms with bowed heads. The exceptions are all of you; moments carved into my bones, woven between synapses in colours as brilliant as the first day they were painted, rich with the layered scents of blossoms in full pride.

I was folding laundry and noticed the hand prints stamped in mud; the towels had hung at just the right height for you to wipe your hands on them having no regard for the effort I’d taken to wash them. I felt the frustration boil in my belly as I turned and stormed outside to find you. On the doorstep I saw you crouched over your sin and with thunder on my brow and lightning on my lips I opened my mouth to unleash a scolding storm.

You flashed a grin that halted a…

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