Her Mother, My Mother

Her mother never wore a sari, my mother never did not. Her mother drove a Mustang, my mother walked everywhere, even though I hated being picked up last. Her mother never packed her lunches, my mother packed feasts, even though I wanted greasy, stale pizza from the cafeteria like everyone else. Her mother allowed sleepovers, my mother trusted no one, not even friends. Her mother went on business trips, my mother was… my mother, nothing else.

Some nights I wished I could swap my mother for hers. She looked skywards at planes growing smaller and smaller, and wished the same.

 

Photo Credit: Susannah Anderson

7 Responses to “Her Mother, My Mother”

1. Thompson Emate says:

   February 18, 2023 at 9:03 am

   A lovely and poetic story.

   Reply
2. Olumide says:

   November 16, 2022 at 7:06 pm

   Different strokes in familiar places.

   Reply
3. Carlos says:

   May 26, 2022 at 5:28 pm

   It was a good story

   Reply
4. Gia says:

   May 24, 2022 at 5:06 pm

   Love your story! Dreams that never reach reality. 🙁

   Reply
5. Shilpa Gupte says:

   May 12, 2022 at 7:17 am

   Loved this, Hema! The last line, especially <3

   Reply
6. Mike says:

   May 10, 2022 at 2:37 pm

   I’m getting acquainted w the genre. This one nails it- the rhythmic her mother my mother gives it a structure that is kinda hard w so few words. Nice.

   Reply
7. Chantal says:

   May 8, 2022 at 10:52 pm

   Great story.

   Reply