books about mothers. the last three books i've read are about mothers. notes to john about adoption, audition about mystic, theatrical motherhood, and firstborn about stillbirth. i used to be preoccupied by  absent father stories. the firstborn book arrived upside down, i mean the library put the cover on backward so i open it at the end, then flip it over and it begins with a dead baby. before i even think of it i recall mom's story about the baby that followed me, a stillborn. mom has dementia now and may not remember, or the story may have changed. the story changes with memory. i thought i might go to the crumbled wall and make a picture of the space where charlie sat. or maybe a double exposure of me and the space where charlie sat. charlie was given up for adoption at five years old. she seems happy in her new family, like she's always been, happy as ever, and the former life, and me just a memory, maybe not even that.