The Peregrine Review

Article Title

Origin Story


I imagine a dark and stormy night,

fat drops of rain sliding down window panels

like spilled ink across a canvas.

She must have been crying—my mother.

In the movies, they’re always crying.

She must have been alone, left behind

by some mysterious lover with dark eyes

too poor to buy a loaf of bread,

much less feed her only daughter.

She was likely wrapped in a thread-barren cloak,

soaked to the bone from the rain and from her tears.