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OA Version
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Abstract
[Your feet got bigger, and suddenly you’re telling your mom to take rest when she needs to, in those fading moments, when her back aches as she tries to cartoonishly lift the sofa to vacuum. After three
surgeries this past year, you wonder when she’ll get rid of that pile of rags that’s moved with you to fifteen houses across three states. It’s accumulated scratches from your cats, who have now passed, and stains from guests drinking red wine on a white couch when they shouldn’t be. “Let me help here, Mom,” you say, and suddenly she’s mad at you for saying that she ain’t capable. Though you never did say that to her. Her dreams went astray while she was damn busy caring for others, her dreams of painting, vending, and just plain working. You care, and you care that she hasn’t gotten new sneakers. You care that her walk staggers now, but that ain’t a measure of her capability, just a measure of what she has given. Maybe you’ll scold her for that, but maybe, you think, this is just motherhood, something so incomprehensible to you and those people surrounding you right now. This city seems to breed a career first and family second. It ain’t so bad, just different from where you came from. Her soles are tattered and her laces fray.]