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Tag: Stories for Smily

  • Agendas

    Agendas

    Plain glazed in a bowl on top of trail mix (Photo courtesy Ayoung Kim) Stories for Smily are stories I have written about my mother, for my mother. The saying that real life is crazier than fiction holds true: You cannot make this stuff up! I checked the GPS for the route to Oxnard. It would

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  • Curtain Call for the Seamstress

    Curtain Call for the Seamstress

    Photo courtesy Marilia Castelli via Unsplash Stories for Smily are stories I have written about my mother, for my mother. The saying that real life is crazier than fiction holds true: You cannot make this stuff up! She dashes down the hallway with rollers like buoys in her hair, a sewing machine bobbing unevenly under

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  • The Filling

    The Filling

    Photo courtesy engin akyurt via Unsplash Stories for Smily are stories I have written about my mother, for my mother. The saying that real life is crazier than fiction holds true: You cannot make this stuff up! Uh-muh-ni emerged from her bedroom with a confused expression. This was not unusual. Finding me in the kitchen,

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  • This is What Love Looks Like

    This is What Love Looks Like

    This morning uh-muh-ni came padding into the kitchen complaining of heaviness. My whole body feels heavy, I don’t know why this happens. She stretched onto tip-toes for a box of cereal from the top shelf. It’s been there for over a year. Fumbling with it she noted, Oh, I never opened this. Scrambling out the

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  • Morning Appointment

    Morning Appointment

    Photo courtesy: Karolina Kolodziejczak via Unsplash The other morning, we had to go to UCLA medical center for uh-muh-ni’s check-up. With an early morning departure time, uh-muh-ni had woken only fifteen minutes beforehand. She was scampering around in the kitchen in staccato movements: fixing her coffee, packing fried man-doo, and grabbing a bag of tangerines

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  • Coughing Flower

    Coughing Flower

    Part 1 She sits a folded flower in her chair, coughing into her iPad. Pulling a tissue, she spits floral spittle into it, tosses it to the ground, wadded and soiled. Her stigma is swollen. It’s constantly dripping. She declares her diagnosis: “I have too much nose.” Coughing Flower swipes her iPad and wipes her

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