Momma’s Dreaming, 9x12" photograph, © Tamara Torres. Courtesy of the author.
I WATCHED YOU with curiosity. The air was filled with a scent of lavender and Downy. The windows were open, the summer breeze pushed your unspoiled white curtains, the room was bright, the plants were pleased, photographs filled the bedroom with memories. The noise from the streets came in and out like waves of disruptions. You hum a melody that is strange to me. Your fingers gripped the iron, and steam floated up your lovely, glistening face. You wrinkled your nose and giggled a bit, stroking the pants on the ironing board gently like you would rub my back when I was afraid. With every stroke, you hum the melody that is strange to me. You captured my gaze, smiled, and said, “Momma’s dreaming.”
