You remind me of my mother .. cigarette smoke + the 20th Century tore through you both .. you say what you wanna say no filter .. roll your eyes at the reliable narrator .. consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds said Emerson the Patriarch .. I can’t know my mother’s death bed confession, she died too fast for me to get on a plane in time .. I know her greatest regret (I think) + that’s about it .. so much I’d rather know: what you really thought of me, if you’re ever here watching out for me, if you’re surprised by who I’ve turned out to be
Editor’s Note: Riffs + Fills are short, focused free writes (usually) using a resonant item / image from a recent list of my current creative preoccupations. The allusion is musical. The energy is improvisational, unfussy. I do it to say I have picked up the instrument that day, if only for a short time.