Denise, 2005 My daughter looks at me, then quickly away. What she has seen is too alarming. I am not who she thought I was. Immutable Mom, the hush-er, jailer, ”No you can’t,” oppressor of youthful inclinations, is fading from view. What she is seeing in those sideways glances is a person not unlike herself: […]
Tag: poem
The Stoop
Denise, April 2015 Where I lived when I was littlewe all had stoops;stone steps or benches of concrete and brick affixed to the front of the building. Gritty and dusty in the summer heat,bleachers of the street arenabox seats to the daily drama of the west Bronx Waiting for Good Humor,watching for friends,giggling over the […]