Writer, Recovering Journalist, Storyteller
towards an Intense
This is not my poetry continued. It belongs to my mother. As I open her books, the pages torn and weary, I find in them the woman I never knew. So I put them down here — so that she lives on. I know she would have liked it.
This is not my poetry. It is my mother’s. She is no longer here, but her words live on in me. I carry her heart and am the custodian of her dreams. And her poetry.
FANTASIA DE TI (Fantasy of You)
By Elizabeth Sabater