Contributor: Brittney Freeman

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Mother,
I love you
for all the small things.

For all the times I've watch you spray perfume upon your wrists,
and you rub them onto your beautifully
sculpted collar bones,
the sweet aroma of sugar apples enlighten my senses each morning.

For every ending of a volleyball game that you race down the bleachers,
to latch your slim arms around my torso
and say "good game", win or lose.

For all the countless mornings you come into my room
and cuddle up behind me.
The way you lightly tug your cold finger tips at my earlobes
till I wake up,
bringing chills to my body,
something that annoys me deeply but I would miss terribly.

For every time I become terrified of the surroundings of the world,
I again am your scared little girl,
and helplessly clutch onto the back pockets of your Levi Strauss denim.

Your the person there
to caress me and cry with me,
through every heartbreak.
You're the person who
dances around your room every morning
listening to Rod Stewart's
"This Old Heart" as you get ready for work.
Your the person who will
never manage to lose a place in my heart.

Mother,
I love you
for all the small things.


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Brittney Freeman lives in Cerritos, California where she writes poems and short fiction. When she is not writing, you can find her at the beach playing volleyball. Her work appears in Eskimo Pie.