constant, driving force. It was a film that played on a l

e was vulnerable, a perfect target for the predatory nature of the low-wage economy. She was hired and fired from jobs for

ngings stuffed into black trash bags, watching my mother on a payphone, her voic

d apartment that would become our home. My education became a casualty of our poverty. I missed so much s

guilt that was entirely u

e had called Clifton again. I was supposed to be asle

she had pleaded. "She needs you. I

t, tinny sound of another woman' s laugh

is voice distant and annoyed. "Kare

ne wen

and terrifying silence emanating from her. After that, she n

shifts until she was a walking ghost, her face pale and drawn. But it w

quiet, tortured whispers late at night when

stroking my hair as I lay listless in bed. "You could

problem was just poverty, she fought tooth and nail to get me into a good school. Our ru

n, bureaucratic woman who looked at my mother' s worn coat and tired

rsing home. On her one day off, my mother started volunteering there. She didn't do it to ask for a

ies for hours. She brought her cookies. She treated her with a gentle d

ts. She saw the genuine affection her mother had for this stranger. One day, the old woman

I had an acc

looked happier than I had seen her in years.

other threw herself into her work. We were a team, fighting a war on

t sick. And th

that first day of school, solidified my resolve. I w

e, we wo