16 Comments
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Sue Ann Gleason's avatar

This one cracks me wide open, particularly the ending. Thank you for articulating what it's like to mother someone else's child: an ache without permission.

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Barri Grant's avatar

What a beautiful piece of work and memory.

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Monica Nastase's avatar

Your writing is magical! Each sentence is necessary and feels like raw flesh - stripped of any excessive dead skin. And what a painful story told in such a lyrical way.

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Kate's avatar

Ouch, I’ve been there, twice (or four times if you count the individual children) and now again, goodness it took courage to take the leap into another relationship where kids were involved. Not because of the risk of their Dad breaking my fragile heart but because I’m not sure I could live through the loss of those hard won relationships again

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InnerVoices's avatar

"A year where a woman insisted you clean your face and bought you books and practiced your months with you. How she stood in the kitchen, where your mother might have stood, and handed you plums"

Brings to mind how difficult it must be for a child to see their parent date someone else who isn't their mother, to grow attached to the person and then 'if things don't work out' they leave. I mean, the child already mourns the absence of a parent then this new person comes into their life only to leave as well. The sense of abandonment that the child must feel😰

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Nona Lea's avatar

This is so beautiful! I’ve heard of lyric essays before, but am unsure what the difference between that and prose poetry could be.

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Aishu's avatar

Oh my :’)

You have a gift of writing, Joy <4

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Kimberly Warner's avatar

Love the implication of testing for ripeness without leaving a bruise. 🙏

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Celeste Lipp's avatar

I loved it. LOVED IT.

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Maria Lata's avatar

Beautiful😭

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Lindsy Carter's avatar

This is stunning.

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Betsy Maloney's avatar

Stunning.

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James Kerti's avatar

"The truth is, I almost stayed."

Ooooooh. 🩵

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Andrei Atanasov's avatar

Absolutely beautiful essay. I felt for you, I could clearly picture what you described, and the final sentence was pure poetry. This is the level I dream of reaching in my own work.

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Carina's avatar

this was so so beautiful

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Ken LéMarchand's avatar

I could definitely connect with the memories of childhood being a blur—I'm lucky to remember anything specific nowadays.

Most of the time I get a glimpse of something and I fill in the blanks—as if my life was half fiction, or a word search without a word Bank.

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