Memories from Other Planets, 8

She coos to me in Motherese – the ancient language that everyone speaks – and it helps; I’m drifting in and out and back and forth and up and down as the same commercials keep repeating – we’re waiting for a kitchen timer (I’m hoping that it doesn’t ring); I’m drowsy sweatpants there beside her – the talking TV makes us three – the oven finally preheats and then she rises – like a ghost leaving a grave.

~ by perfectionatrix on January 25, 2016.

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