Notes my mother wrote
by Barrie Neller


One fell from an old text book as if
it had been waiting for me.
"Honey ... give your teacher a kiss
today. I put in an extra pickle so
you can pucker up!"
It reminded me I had not yet grieved.
As the black son of an unmarried
white woman, I could easily have
become the worst of what people
assume. My mother saw to it I did not.
Every day my lunch box would carry
a message from her. Smiling with release
the tears flow freely. As a teen I remember
reading this one from my gym bag:
"Son ... love is painted in every color."






Copyright 2019 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.