Momnesia

A Poem By Emerson

Augusta, Ga - We're sitting in my mom's recliner at my parents' house.

"Mama?" Emmie says. "Did you know dat some fings take change?"

I've raised this girl for five years, and I suspect something is on her mind.

"What do you mean, Doodle?" I ask.

"Wull, like wood is trees. An' moms are gran'mas," she explains. "Do you seee?"

"So, some things are different?" I ask.

"Yeth! Like kids are big kids. An' big kids are grown-ups. Fings change a lot. But all da change doesn't matter. It doesn't matter when fings change."

"Why not?"

"Because da people are da same people. An' dey lub you."

And that's something to remember.

Of course, this also the girl who thinks that "Boo" is pronounced "Moo."

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