My mother. I feed her, mush in a spoon that seeps down her chin. No teeth, only gums. Half-dead eyes. Cold blue mouth opening like a fish. Who she used to be is forgotten. And me? I am forever young. Life pulses in my veins in my green silk suit. Mascaraed eyes and sheer loose legs. In America I see Twelve Angry Men. In New York, no less. At NYU I am not new, not old, not easy. I go to Niagara Falls twenty-seven times.