Analia Colffer A Stove for My Mother

As all afternoons, my sister, my mother and I are looking for thick and dry branches in the woods. My mother lets me carry no more than one branch because of their weight, but she is carrying lots of them above her head, and we start our way back home. On the next day, after school, I find my mother cooking in the yard using all the branches we brought the day before—she is making jelly to sell. My sister and I know how to make it perfectly since we’ve been doing it for years, so we run and take over her job. While cooking, my mother always gets burned with the fire. I wonder if it’s expensive to buy a stove. I realize it must be, because if not we would have one. After we take over the cooking, she runs out to her customer’s house. As a cosmetologist, she has to go to their houses in order to cut their hair. She says, “Be careful. I love you both.” I wish she did not worry about us too much. After all, next year I will be six.


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