What I think about when I think about my mom: Holly Salvatore 1. The bottoms of her feet fleshy and pink, cracked yellow heels, meeting deep dewy skin. I see my mother’s legs, long and muscular, propped on the railing of the porch. Everything is blooming. The bees are not all dead yet. Hummingbirds vibrate and shimmer through the porch shade, stopping at the feeder to drink sugar water for less than a second. They nest in the pear tree. […] Continue Reading
