All Mothers Are Refugees

Refugees from bad policies, bad environments, bad men

Photo: ProtoplasmaKid via Wikimedia Commons/CC-BY-SA 4.0

Being a mother is like eating bread with your hands. Pulling off small chunks from the loaf. “Here, love, eat this.”

I study the picture on the cover of the newspaper. Metal slates, razor wire, Tijuana. Pink flip-flops and diapers. I look at the grip of the Honduran mother’s hands on the arms of her…