Christie Watson

At first I had not understood Mama. But as I grew older, maybe not wiser, certainly more realistic, I realized she did the best she could. She loved me, in her own way. Not everyone is born to be a mother. It does not come naturally to some women.

At first I had not understood Mama. But as I grew older, maybe not wiser, certainly more realistic, I realized she did the best she could. She loved me, in her own way. Not everyone is born to be a mother. It does not come naturally to some women.

– Christie Watson –

Tiny Sunbirds

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I don’t recognize her. This is not the woman I knew so round and made-up with her hair always a wavy jet black! I stay back until she opens her arms to me – this strange and familiar woman – her voice hoarse, “¡Ay mi’jita!” Instinctively, I run into her arms, still holding back my insides. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry”, I remember. “Whatever you do, no llores.” But my tía had not warned me about the smell, the unmistakable smell of the woman, mi mamá, el olor de aceite y jabón and comfort and home. “Mi mamá.” And when I catch the smell I am lost in tears, deep long tears that come when you have held your breath for centuries.

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