Mom painted and took pictures. Though she got paid for filing and typing. Aunt E. wrote poems, made sculpture, painted. She was married to a man with a wooden leg. When she was young she was a dancer and a piano player. At 8 I showed her a poem I wrote about the sun. She said it was a sexist poem because I called the sun a he. I never knew how she paid the bills. Grandmother danced and played piano before she had children. She had a secret marriage at 18. It lasted two years. She balanced people’s books for a living. Grandmother and E’s mother left their father for an Argentinean and they played in a jazz band.
There are the other stories, other adjectives, that could make them look very different, but of course I prefer these. When I rewrite my stories, I find words I use again and again, not realizing that these certain words keeping falling on the page even though I think I’m writing something new.
It’s never new.
What words do you come back to again and again?