Brazilian doll
I had a dream I was painting a portrait of a Baiana woman from Bahia with a golden turban on her head. A clear plastic recyclable bag took up residence on her lap and inside the bag were colorful bows and spools attached to her long frail finger tips. With her eyes closed, she worked in melodic rhythm. As she sat glued to the chair with legs pressed thin up against a silver cane and untouched amber one, I saw her mouth open and the notes to the song, “Vincent” (Starry, Starry Night), escape into the atmosphere.
A short- haired lady appeared in a greasy ponytail. She bent down and whispered, “It’s time to go.” As the Baiana woman brought one cane from underneath her oxford fitted foot and then the other, she pushed herself up from the chair and with canes in hands and eyes closed, waltzed out the door with a smile.
My grandmother appeared.
