“Mom, mom, mom, mom! A yowl rose from my gut, my bowels, my womb, raw as a birth cry but with no hope in it, a maddening howl, a roar, the water a wailing wall shattering around me. Unsyllabled, thoughtless,… — Lorna Crozier Copy Share Image
“Mom, mom, mom, mom! A yowl rose from my gut, my bowels, my womb, raw as a birth cry but with no hope in… — Lorna Crozier Copy Share Image
“And so many things get lost. Not just a set of keys or a photograph of your father with his first truck, but the… — Lorna Crozier Copy Share Image
“Who but my mother held those small pieces of my childhood? Where would they go when she was gone?” — Lorna Crozier Copy Share Image
