You pushed me high on swings at five, mother, so I could FLY.
Sometimes, I’d jump on merry-go-rounds, spinning-spinning, giggling, catching breath, before I was in your grasp.
After cancer took you, I found my way back, swinging, spinning, at nineteen, you, a faint whisper in the breeze, wearing clouds.
Angela Carlton’s fiction has been published in Every Writer, Everyday Fiction, 6S, 50 Word Stories, Spillwords Press, and Paragraph Planet. In 2018, her story “The Roommates,” was made into a short film. In 2023, her story “Swallowed,” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. See more at Angela Carlton Stories & Art on Facebook.
Lovely…
Thank you, Amanda!
Very touching… You can feel them reconnecting with the mother in memories… Wow!
I think the idea of wearing clouds is one of your best ones. I wish the story was longer for this reason. It is easy to picture in your mind. What a beautiful vision you have created.
Beautiful!
A sweet, emotional memory of childhood that gently carries the ache of missing a mother.
Amazing and Beautiful!
This is so beautiful. Strong imagery. And truly, sometimes after they leave their presence becomes even stronger.
Written with so much emotion and imagery. A lovely piece. 💗
Beautifully written! ❤️