Watching the Foxes

The young mother does not know how to live
without a mother. Shipwrecked by grief,

she can barely wake herself, feed the baby.
There’s still so much she doesn’t know—

the recipe for meatball soup, or how to make the baby
stop eating dirt. They never did get a good volley

going on the tennis court.
Her mother is pages of a sunken diary,

waterlogged, ink bleeding everywhere.
Her mother is a locked door with another door behind it.
Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.