In Memoriam

In the early afternoon my mother was doing the dishes. I climbed onto the kitchen table, I suppose to play, and fell asleep there. I was drowsy and awake, though, as she lifted me up, carried me on her arms into the living room, and placed me on the davenport, but I pretended to be asleep the whole time, enjoying the luxury— I was too big for such a privilege and just old enough to form my only memory of her carrying me. She’s still moving me to a softer place.