Mothering

In the Tub

Lying in hot water surrounded by lavender-scented bubbles, I hold Clarissa Dalloway in my hand, thumb and pinkie pressed against the pages. I seek some peace on a day crowded with the needs and desires of others.

I remember my mother locked in the powder room with a book. I remember disturbing her, wondering why in the world she stayed there so long.

My eyes blink heavily; I drowse in the water, but I hold the book above danger, Mrs. Dalloway safe in the flower shop.

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