Discovering My Mother in a Painting by Mary Cassatt She catches me with her half-smile, unconscious delight flowering over her. I finger the single strand around my neck, eyes fixed on the woman with pearls—my pearls, my mother’s. It may be the pastel colour lit by lamps of rosy hue as she looks out from her balcony, or maybe the sheen of her strawberry-blonde hair curled back behind her ear that mesmerizes and transports me to the theatres of my mother’s dancing career, the chandelier casting soft reflections, the rustle of anticipation in the upper tiers before lights dim. I remember her Irish skin—milk-white porcelain, blush that tinted her cheeks. Any minute she might break out in that hearty laugh, infectious to anyone around her. Even in the wake of dying, light glints off her coral scarf and nightgown like the leaps and pliés of her life. I long for my mother, on loan from somewhere else, who’s stopped to linger here for a spell in the Art Institute. Too soon she’ll have to leave again, but here, where shadows are part of light, is where I stand. Mary Jo Balistreri Mary Jo has three full length books of poetry and one chapbook. She was a musician most of her life but due to the death of a grandchild and a consequent loss of her hearing, she turned to poetry. Mary Jo has always been interested in art and received her BA in art from the U. of Pennsylvania. Please visit her at maryjobalistreripoet.com. She lives in Wisconsin.
2 Comments
8/21/2019 03:54:45 pm
Love this! Thank you, Mary Jo Balistreri. You made the portrait (Cassatt's sister, I think) come alive with the wonderful balancing of life and death, audience and performer, mother and daughter, and I love to think of the mother being on loan.
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Mary Jo Balistreri
9/18/2019 03:23:31 pm
Thank you for writing. It means so much to hear that someone likes your work.
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