mother_me raze this could have been my second mother: the_smell_of_pot and fried chicken. intelligence without enough empathy to make the math work out. the boarded-up windows of a house owned by nuns. arguments and activism. blue jeans and a red sweater. ska music and a roll top desk. in my only memory of her, she's someone else. fading from a foam rubber mattress on the floor, i squint to see her smiling face in near-darkness and find long black hair where blonde tresses should be. her face is not her own. a_trick_of_the_light, or a lie of the mind? there's no way to know. 250122 what's it to you? who go blather from