then on the day he hit my momma, he didn't seem like much of a hero anymore. only bad guys hit fair ladies. she was never the same
her face never lit with her rainy day smile. she never hummed in the kitchen, or sighed when the breeze picked up enough to rattle the chimes
my momma was a dreamer.
she hated the wild west. she didn't want to be tough. so she took her little bottle of candies and went somewhere else
sometimes I wish she'd come back and take me with her
