I watched as Mom-Mom made her bed.
She raised the sheet corners like four strong sails. Plumped embroidered pillowcases until the roses bloomed. Leveled her handmade quilt with an engineer’s precision.
And I felt such sorrow for this woman, who’d always warned me that girls shouldn’t have too much ambition.
Emily Hall is a freelance writer whose prose appears, or is forthcoming in, places such as Passages North, Portland Review, Blood Orange Review, 100 Word Story and Cherry Tree. She has a PhD in contemporary Anglophone novels, is a prose reader for West Trade Review, and lives in NC with her husband.
