painting by Elizabeth R. Graham
When I was six-years-old the neighbor's dog bit me in the leg while I was wandering the ditch searching for some pretty pink flowers. This is what I remember:
There is a way a mother holds a child in pain, gripping them, bouncing their face against the crook of her neck, while she runs for the medicine kit filled with band-aids, merthiolate, and antiseptic creams. Headed toward soothing. I was held in place on the edge of the bathtub by mother’s severity. Her fingers tapped over me, here, there, flicking away uncertainty, everything would be okay once the cream was dabbed and the band aid smoothed on.
Excerpt from: Sand in My Shoes - The World Was Full of It