The Mother In Me is ME & Her
I am my own other, mostly I am. Comfort, love, more comfort. That mother energy from the heart and hands and the where i live with my memories. I never forget to remember.
I think of my mother. Dead and present too. She comes into my studio and makes a suggestions. On fabric and lipstick.
I hate not to have a sister to talk to. My mother inside is me, the mother outside that is my real dear dead mother. Dependent, weak, selfish all.
I see her in the grass in the blue dress, young. She wanted love, a good car and kids. me. my sister. my brother.
I hope that she got what she wanted, that i made her happy, i know i made her sad. She listened, told me I was wise. She trusted me. I love her now.