My mom told me about my first birthday. She had just finished picking up lilacs from the garden when the hospital called. There were no photographs that day, only memories. But she recalls that day as if it happened yesterday. And she remembers purple flesh, tear-stained eyes, and the very last phone call she had from my dad.
YOU ARE READING
Trinkets
PoetryIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
