A letter to my mother: Growing up a motherless daughter

My earliest memory is of you walking away. There are sunbeams between your fingers. Your bones are hard against my hand. These things I remember and not much more. You smelled like cigarettes and weed. At three years old I knew not to make you angry. Not to wake you. Not to ask too much [...]

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1. A letter to my mother: Growing up a motherless daughter
2. Mother of a Sale