“ Mom, mom, mom, mom! A yowl rose from my gut, my bowels, my womb, raw as a birth cry but with no hope in it, a maddening howl, a roar, the water a wailing wall shattering around me. Unsyllabled, though… Lorna Crozier
“ Who but my mother held those small pieces of my childhood? Where would they go when she was gone? Lorna Crozier
“ And so many things get lost. Not just a set of keys or a photograph of your father with his first truck, but the door those keys once opened, the childhood house you long ago walked into, the father w… Lorna Crozier
