Leaving Iran, Forty Years Ago
When a memory holds you hostage
Nov 4 · 10 min read
I woke up, confused.
Squinting against the bright, bare lightbulb, I saw my mother silhouetted above me.
She pulled the warm quilt off my curled body. I shivered and grabbed at it. She pulled it back down, this time, yanking it all the way to my feet, where it slid to the linoleum floor.

