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But you can tell he loved her by looking at this photograph, pleasedon't eat my mother the way his arm circles her, the way he holds her hand. She lets herself be contained, lets him whisper in her ear. This time the camera is peeping; Mama seems almost embarrassed at being watched; her eyes glance toward the ground. Then there was a photograph taken after pleasedon't eat my mother Mama had children. May 1962. That's three years after my sister was born. Four children in five pleasedon't eat my mother years and all of a sudden she's wearing shoes, like she's afraid we're going to tramp on her feet. No more smiling, barefoot Miss America. The photograph is blurry, hazy. Mama's sitting in one of those old-fashioned shell-shaped lawn chairs, scrunched to one side as if she's going to share her seat with someone much smaller than herself.
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