Tag: mom
member name: Patricia F.
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April 08, 2008 11:59 AM EDT --
I submitted this story to the Seacoast Writers' Association 2008 Writers' Contest and won first prize in the essay division. I will be attempting to read this at the SWA Writers' Conference . . .
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June 24, 2008 03:43 PM EDT --
Your Mom makes you scrambled eggs
And toast with strawberry jam,
And feeds it to you in little bites,
While she tells you how high the tomato plants are,
And . . .
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June 01, 2008 07:37 PM EDT --
My son is home.
And I am over that moon that people talk about. Because now I can call him and he will come galloping down the stairs and I can hug him and smell his hair for just that . . .
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February 18, 2008 04:22 PM EST --
Evening at the Canyon.
The tired sun hangs low,
Washes mile high walls
In a blur of pink and blue.
Shines its bent light
On our sad parade.
A sudden . . .
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February 24, 2008 01:11 PM EST --
I pull into the parking lot. It's been raining buckets, all day, but the sun's finally coming out. The wet pavement shines. Scattered oil spots make rainbows, like bubbles popped all over the . . .
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November 24, 2007 12:50 PM EST --
You're not gonna believe this! It's crazy! I'm almost afraid to tell you because you'll probably think I've gone 'round the bend!
What are . . .
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December 03, 2007 04:26 PM EST --
A chicken in every pot. An orange in every sock. Well, at least we always had the latter. Every Christmas Eve, as we slept, my Mom would sink a huge orange into each of our . . .
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June 01, 2008 07:51 PM EDT --
Every week day, around 3 o'clock or so, the big yellow school bus spit us all out at our stop on Depot Road. As the bus chugged away, we'd wave at our friends and stick our tongues out at our . . .
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June 30, 2009 05:00 PM EDT --
Vivian scooped the bread crumbs from the kitchen table into her palm and tossed them into the sink. Vivian's grandmother Ruby looked at Vivian and tsked, "Don't be scooping up while I'm still havin' . . .
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June 21, 2009 02:33 AM EDT --
I keep having dreams about you,
So close that I can smell your hair.
And I am mad at you so many times,
As I wrangle with my bruised feelings.
Why didn't I ever feel like your prize,
Even . . .
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