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Night Gown

I put the nightgown on but took it off again as it clung to my skin like

seaweed even though there was nothing to suggest that it would feel that

way as I only imagined it to be light and airy

as the day when I bought it in

Spring

in

El Paso, Texas with

one child in a sling at my

breast

in April

empty parking lot at ten a.m.

Dillard's Department Store

a short drive from New Mexico

forty minutes, easy

credit card to hand

Mother on my mind

Nothing else

I salvaged it - I don't know why

out of the pile of lint and cloud on her empty bed

it has a place now on the bottom shelf of the linen closet

a relic of something

a something that mattered.

Then.

Passing time brought me to a train station

and to a cab and to a hospital with marbled stairs

and white clad staff and a room in June

with a window where I saw my child stand on

a green lawn - restless and away from me

and my mother in a wheel-chair dressed in  silk pajamas

tiny and aloof she offers me melting chocolates

I hated those silk pajamas and the clawing of the day

that came to me without cease

and I wished hopelessly for my mother to be wrapped

in embroidered white cotton

pure as a woman, who, sifted through lingerie in El Paso-

as if it mattered, as if it would matter.

Comments
4 Comment count
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Lovely.

Embroidered white cotton always matters. Then and now. The child at your breast also mattered then. And now. Nothing ends. It only changes.

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Oh Sue what a lovely thought

Oh Sue what a lovely thought to think that nothing ends but only changes. I had never imagined it to be the way but I think you might be right although the embroidery is still as beautiful and there is no one to wear it and my son is taller than me now and needs me less and so I wonder if it has ended or if I must persist in its continuance? mx

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Mother

Mary,

We are children, we have children and eventually our mothers become our children. The cycle of life is beautiful, brief and sad.

I try to capture people and moments with their treasures and momentos. I cling to them until the day I can look at them and acknowledge they are just things without the person.

Very moving.

Jules

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Brief and sad Jules - yes

Brief and sad Jules - yes and thank you for reading me always m