A comb
A spritz
A lipstick
O tangled hair
small of back
length of leg
It all comes back
to a comb, a spritz, a
lipstick
©2007
Mother's Day 1939
“Take out the crib and leave the playpen, Doc. The diapers that I’ve got are wearing thin, the oldest boy has rickets and the skin...
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I wonder now in Bethlehem as shepherds still tend sheep, is the grass upon the hills coarse beneath their feet
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It’s funny what sticks with me of what I’ve received. It’s what I make of it that becomes my truth:
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