Mother
I try on names for mythical mother. Mother. Mama. Mom. They hold their own weight. Mother, formal, yet beautiful. Mama, the moon, wistful and luminous. Mom is too plain.
Daddy tells me to stop with the mother stuff. Focus on what I have. He stayed to keep me safe.
But he never loves. Never smiles.
I conjure images. From ten years ago. Maybe they’re dreams. A silhouette. A lavender dress, a temper. Perfume. Words of love, fleeting.
Dad’s all beards and beer. Orders, no words of love.
Love doesn’t pay bills.
I keep trying on names, wishing. I can’t stop.
From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri
Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, he has had work nominated for a Pushcart Award and The Best Small Fictions. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in journals such as Unstamatic, Door Is A Jar Magazine, Maudlin House, and Ariel Chart.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.