My Missing Story

They had a particular energy that made us feel welcome even with the littlest introductory conversation. Their words had unmatched sweetness and understanding that could delight anybody. I asked the woman who looked the most like my mother, what they were celebrating. She enthusiastically replied "We are like daughters of Audre Lorde, we always have something to celebrate. A good day, a poem, a new job, or a new love. But today my dear we are writing letters to our mothers who have done us wrong and who have done us good." The look of intrigue on my face wasn't too hard to read so she continued. "Every once in a while we write these long overwhelming letters to let it all out. To feel it all, to release it all, to feel like a person. The letters are addressed to the fire which some might feel is futile but I disagree. It's my favorite thing " she said with a mischievous smile as she directed both of her palms towards the fire pit. Her gesticulative manner was just as intriguing as the things she was saying.