Under the Weeping Willow

It was a cold, brisk night. My sisters, brothers, and I huddled together in a one-room bedroom on a dirt floor. We watched the snowflakes float through the hole in the ceiling and dance down to the floor as if trying to remind us that things were not as bad as they were. We had two mattresses and a couple of raggedy blankets to cuddle under. The snow was making a path of white. Our only warmth was our closeness and the touch of our skin against one another.

I was the eldest, a second mother ...