A Tribute to Mothers

Carter spoke as if he were witnessing yesterday’s event from a distance; another critical phone call received from his fifth grade teacher, his father’s failed containment of anger, the baseball bat…

Pulling up the sleeve of a light jacket, he bared the bump and purple bruise blooming on a thin bronze arm.

He knew the call that followed when speaking to a mandated reporter.

A shimmer of hope glinted behind defeated brown eyes,”Could you call my mom?”

“Who wants to know?” Growled the voice that answered.

Mom calls from drug rehab. Their combined tears hallow a battlefield for custody.

Talk story

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