No Air
Published in

No Air

Mothers

“Don’t I Look Good Though,” Mama Said.

The velvet fist of my life

Image by luxstorm from Pixabay

“To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow.” Maya Angelou

My mother had a hard-luck life.

Growing up, she and my grandmother lived in a garage behind the home of the family where my…

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