A while ago when I was visiting Mom, I saw in what used to be my sister's room this propped up collection of all the publication credits I earned over the course of two decades. From 1993 to 2013, if my poetry was printed on nice paper, I got an extra copy for her.
My Mom didn't understand my tendency to write poetry when I was young. She understands even less of it now. Still, she tries to display what I've done and give it a special place in her home.
She doesn't even display her Stephen King books anymore, but she displays mine.
I love you, Mom. I'll see you soon.
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