Warm Feet
By Jennifer Tan, Staff Writer

My mother’s laughter is loud enough to wake
the neighbors up at 8am Sunday morning.
It’s loud enough to penetrate the thick layers
of my subconscious, implant itself into my dreams
and ask me if I have any laundry to do today.
It is so loud it makes the whole house shake on its
rocky foundation - homemade little earthquakes
knocking Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action
figures off karaoke speakers.  Her laughter
is enough to generate electricity in the house,
heating up the grey carpet that we walk upon.
Feet are never cold when mom is happy.
Her laughter strikes us deep in the chest,
engendering hard to find emotions that give way to
unexpected reactions.  She tells jokes only she finds hilarious,
jokes that dig deeper than the surface,
jokes that make sense to no one but us.
Her laughter makes my brother cry at times,
embarrassed by his childhood rollerblading
inadequacies, she reminds him of the pieces of
shattered glass that pierced through the skin of his knees.
This is my mother with that smile busting out
of her vociferous presence, once an artist with
overwhelming promise, a comedienne who laughed
too hard at her own jokes; now a mother with
too many hardships endured, with
two children and regrets she can only laugh about.