my entries for the Construct Cup |
I walked with her that night, hoping to avoid induction. her first baby, my first niece or nephew two weeks overdue. down hospital corridors and back again, we paced and talked and speculated about just who would come, tomorrow—and she shared her worry. what kind of mother would she be? tomorrow came, my niece with it, I stayed with them, keeping watch over baby sneezes while her mother slept. nine years. three sons later, (one dead too quickly), I marvel at her strength. even losing her eye didn’t turn her bitter. that loss was nothing when she thought of her lost boy. music was always her gift— she played piano at four, and worked pit with her xylophone in marching band. now she shares that gift with her children. they study together, mother and children, every morning, singing with childlike zeal of history and geography biology and physics— even her youngest reciting facts that she defines as they learn to ask— to understand. I’ve seen her lose patience, but remain calm— so very unlike my little sister when we were young— talking them down, pulling them short, picking her battles. her home isn’t tidy, but is full of music and laughing. and it is strange to think that my little sister has changed so that I think of her as mother, first. a mother I would be proud to be. line count: 55 Prompt: 7 May ▼ Alphabetical Word List ▼ |