Pressing Day Kitchen

by The Hearth Voice

Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.

On Sunday evening, my mother sets the comb, towel, and jar in order. I sit between her knees while the kitchen radio argues with the weather. Her hands part a straight road, then another, patient with every tangle. Years later, I remember not the style but the shelter: her knees at my shoulders, her voice above me, time made safe by touch.
62 words · 14 lines · Free Verse
African American motherhoodhair caredaughtermemoryimagerymetaphorauditory imageryfree-verse

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