Ghosts [Clayman]
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She knows all about ghosts, though she is not her mother. They whisper to her softly, all the echoes of her childhood condensed, hidden within art:
*I am sitting at Mother's feet and watching her paint a sunflower, golden and bright ...*
*I am standing in the doorway as Mother opens herself to Renoir and weeps with his shared sorrow ...*
*I am bringing Mother tea with lemon, because it has become winter and she will not leave her attic studio until this final painting is completed ...*
They follow her everywhere. She doesn't mind--she'd be lonely without them.
***
****************
She knows all about ghosts, though she is not her mother. They whisper to her softly, all the echoes of her childhood condensed, hidden within art:
*I am sitting at Mother's feet and watching her paint a sunflower, golden and bright ...*
*I am standing in the doorway as Mother opens herself to Renoir and weeps with his shared sorrow ...*
*I am bringing Mother tea with lemon, because it has become winter and she will not leave her attic studio until this final painting is completed ...*
They follow her everywhere. She doesn't mind--she'd be lonely without them.
***
