Heptadecagon

With my busier schedule as of late, I've not been a regular Facebook cruiser. I still hop on for Literary Mama and The Plot Sisters business (I think I've said this before) as well as to help spread the word about friends' ventures (and some personal blog posts), but I don't have the time to play there anymore. Yet on Mother's Day, I took a quick break from my grades to put together a Book of the Week post for the Plot Sister page, and I happened to see this post from a friend: I have three (too many) friends who each witnessed the end of a life cycle over the past several months and find themselves on this day reaching out to their mothers only in their hearts. Peace to each of you. His words, while only that, are heartfelt and sincere, a touching tribute to his friends and their losses. I thought about what he had to say for the majority of the evening because I had just spent some time with my own mother, someone I haven't physically lost yet. Bu...

Midnight, not a sound from the pavement. Has the moon lost her memory? She is smiling alone.  In the lamplight the withered leaves collect at my feet, and the wind, begins to moan. The music filtered to my ears as I sat and watched Zoe and Talia sing a version of Memory for their voice recital on Friday night. It was the first time their teacher had allowed them to hold a microphone right in their hands, close to their moving lips. It was the first time their angelic voices could really be heard. To be quite truthful, I could have listened to them sing all night. But as I sat in the choir room and heard the girls nail all the right notes (it's okay to be proud at times, right?), I was transported back to when I was a child, to when my mom would turn on the light rock station as we cleaned the house. To when she'd crank up that song, Memory , so loud that the speakers would vibrate and my chest resonated, and I could still hear the words over the drone of the vacuum clean...