the new home of @bookmark_terry
When I was ten, Grandmother told me to get her stuffed when she died like the buck head by the door catching webs of evil in his antlers. She was to be seated in the living room on the sofa (or chair, our choice), facing the piano where I would play Brahms, Liszt and Chopin. Her eyes were to be open (maybe a…
Over and over I call her back to me– her flowered bathrobe with pink trim around the collar glasses a little crooked hair wispy white. Scuffing blue terrycloth slippers she turns toward me, grasping the counter edge for balance, and speaks my name with more love than anyone ever squeezed into one word. Over and over I listen to the sound of my name– the…