(no subject)
She smells like perfume, like warmth and make up and she rubs my back to wake me up for school. It's warm, the blankets, the sheets, the pillow against my cheek and I don't want to leave. It's cold outside, in the fall, in the school, in my shoes and in my dress. I can hear the blow dryer, the vroom of it. My mother's hair is curly it use to be straight. My hair use to be curly and now it is straight. She has a crooked smile, teeth are not white, are not dirty yellow but the color of age and of coffee in the morning and tea in the evening. Her eyes are brow, beautiful like the earth, soft like a well worn blanket, darker like scotch and when she smiles her whole face smiles. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, beautiful like nothing else. No physical affection, not much physical affection can I remember but words, words I think. Words are all I have.