Mothers Like Gods

Emily lies in her crib. She hears the echo of the dead fly still buzzing at her window. Her visual life takes shape in shadows. She is fortunate to be small and fragile-this way she does not understand her mother's agony. Her mother screams, cries, mouths wet words over her bassinet, "Your father is dead." Then for many days her mother's shape does not appear; only the large inviting outline of her grandmother is visible. Her breath is sweet, warm like the milk she draws from the brown rubber nipple. Emily's grandmother's cheeks are wet. When her grandmother holds her, she feels moisture against her own cheeks. She is nourished by her grandmother's tears...[synopsis]

From the novel "Mothers Like Gods", in progress