I am not a homemaker or a homewrecker. I am a gypsy and I raise gypsies who flee and flounder and find themselves over and over and dream and believe and forget and stay homeless in a world full of pretty picture windows and empty smiles and broken mirrors.

I don’t do math or theoretical anything though I have long ago mastered the hypothetical and I ask every question expecting I will receive an answer. I never, ever do rhetorical. So tell me:

Why did you send me all those letters?

You have always confused me.

You say yes and no and yes again. You tell me stories and show me secrets and always you are trying to find the words that I will respond to. My strength is my resistance, my unhappy travels through time and space without companion, my lack of need. I never need to be needed. I am forgiving and kind and never remembering. I am everything you ever wanted but you have no idea why.

So tell me.

Why did you send me all those letters?


Mothers of Sons—Daily Promt-Promises


I have two mothers. They tell their stories, they dream for me different dreams, strange women, strange memories.

I have two daughters, two stories of my own. I have my own babies, I have my own wishes, my own hopes. Did I do better, did I do what I wanted to?

I have a man, another man, there’s always a man….he has sons. What is a son? I have too many fathers, I never wanted a son. What would I do with such a thing?

I would teach him, I think. I would demand from him excellence. I would push him to be a better man than the men he sees around him. I would say no to almost everything and yes to all of it. I would tell him the truth: women are worse but we get away with everything. I would tell him he is a born man and that is a noble thing. I would teach him to be a man who could be a father to women.

But, I have no sons. I have daughters. I have to hope the mothers of sons don’t break them before they meet my babies. I have to hope there are women who love men raising up sons who aren’t broken.

I have to believe that the broken promises have been unbroken for my girls. I have to believe these women will see the value in keeping the promises made to me. The mothers of the sons I didn’t have are the keepers, the unbreakers, the unforsakers. I want to believe in you, mothers. I want so much to believe I can trust you to raise men for my daughters. I want to believe you made men who love women.

I want to believe I would do better. I hope you will do better. My daughters deserve so much better.