“The heat came up slowly. She balled her fists under the hot boxes to keep them off her legs. As I clicked on the four-wheel drive to crest Livingston Street, I felt that old old yearning to crawl into my mother’s lap and curl up there in place of the pizza, to be held by her, my mother, nursed and held and hugged to her. I needed to be comforted and protected. And let me be even a bit more honest—to be a slice, to be chewed and swallowed by her, to be in her, down in her stomach again, please, safe and warm…”
Read More