I was sitting on a red tricycle.The yellow,blinding,brilliance of the sun..
warming me from head to toe.
My Father...lay in the driveway of our house,working on a car.
A cigarette cradled precariously, in his cracked lips,as he twisted
his nicotined stained fingers ,back and forth in mechanical precision.
His hands glowed a greasy grey-blue...cacked with years of hard work.
My Mother...was standing at the sink,washing dishes. Her eyes were beautiful then..they were not yet...colored with rage.She called us in for dinner...her voice calm.
That is the last time...I remember her that way.
What is one of your earliest memories?