Every now and then, we showcase voices from our growing community on this blog. And this month, we're happy to share the following micro memoir from Mari Mendoza, one of our judges for the Tadpole Press 100-Word Writing Contest.
I watch my daughter on the porch, head tipped back, laughing. As I do dishes, I see her mouth, her eyebrows move. I can’t see my mom’s face but I see her head nod. I am desperate to know what they talk about. At the same time, I don’t want to know. I see the gift of this matriarchal bond: my grandmothers weren’t in my life when I was fourteen. And yet, I worry about the math: all this love, this connection, these long swatches of time—do they get subtracted from my little pile of each?