A Mother’s Constitution

the ramblings

  I rocked my son in the creaky old glider. His hair is damp from the bath, sweet smell of bubblegum bubbles still lingering over him. I sweep my hand round and round his small back, soothing myself, really. This mother’s fear, it is an achy thing. It grabs me by the throat and throbs behind my eyes. And in this innocent  room of a little suburban house in a little suburban town I am an animal, crouched and wild. You will not take this child.

    I hear the mumble of CNN from the other room. Men speak of weapons and mental health and Constitutional rights. I hear numbers and statistics amid talk of liberties. Feeling freshly wounded for the small suburban Connecticut town, I rock my son longer, clutching him like a safety raft, floating aimlessly. I am holding twenty children. I am holding them one-by-one, praying over their sweet heads. I am lulling them ever so…

View original post 282 more words


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s