top of page
Search

The Small Thing

The document gently slides out of the machine and lands on the plastic dock.

It reads that I will become someone else's baby for the last year of my childhood.


She holds the document close to her face because she is near-sighted and teary,

And I push the pen across the surface in her direction.

This is what a mother knows to do:

Carry the small thing.

Similar to how she held me when I was four And wiped the hay fever out of my nose with her sherpa jacket.


The room waits quietly for her to sign me off.

I stare at my hands, ashamed to be prying myself out of her arms.


The pen clicks.


This is what a mother knows to do:

Carry the small thing.

Recent Posts

See All

Mother

Outside the building During gray showers I am entertaining a cigarette Underneath my umbrella. Nearby, a mother folds her child Into her...

I Write About You

I arrive to the bar on Thursday night for writing group And attempt to domesticate love words, But they escape me like herds that Have...

Comments


bottom of page