My mother's ring and my father's coin
Not forgiveness, but maybe acceptance of my dead alcoholic parents
Stories.
I sit on the fluffy carpet, my legs pulled up, my back against the couch, my milk-drunk, sleepy newborn facing me, resting against my thighs. Eyes closed, mouth partially open with a little milk dribble trickling down her chin. I feel warm and relaxed, even though my nipples are raw, and my vagina is held together by fresh stitches following the…
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