My mother was always
hot and cold. Always a contradiction. Fire and ice. I blazed with her and froze
to death with her, as long as I could stay close. We were a raging fire and a
frozen marsh in the tundra, where it’s always too cold for anything to grow.
That’s how my mother would remain for days, but all of a
sudden, the clouds would lift and I would see the embers start to twinkle inside
of her. The Magic Woman was coming to life. And she would be lit ablaze,
everything around her smoky and on fire. She was lightning in a five-foot-two-inch
body.
And me, well…I just loved to watch her burn.
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