Chanel No.5. Waxy lipstick. The clip clop of leather heels. Smell of my mother lingers since I was a little girl As an adult, I know my mother's scent A soft musk That I only get When I go in for a hug deep sighs and closed eyes a shot of hydration in the desert of passing time But as a mother, I see my daughter this radiant ridiculous joy and wonder Could she have been my mother in the faraway countryside smelling of manure mud, long blades of grass a hard days fragrance of

A mother’s love is like the sea. Yet even the sea can be rough Her waves do not splash evenly. Sometimes, they pull away, making you wade...