I came upon this on an old blog post. It was part of a project with Joan Logghe for the Hispanic Cultural Center using poems on an apron. I posted photos, but not the text itself. It wasn’t too private to hang in the wind but too personal to post while my mom was alive. Have you ever had a similar experience?
my intellectual mother
never wore an apron
but feared what it covered
particularly on her daughters
chased me around with a scissors
to cut my hippie underarm hair
blades shaped like a bird’s beak
and in flight I took wing.