The clown is a painful memory. It is sometimes a picture of me. Sometimes of her. Sometimes it is a symbol of what is behind the smile. It holds the unbearable itch of mourning a loved one. Dejected the clown leans against her steel stand. Broken down by illness and pain. Sometimes we all need something to lean against.
The clown has been my constant companion and reminder. For when the facial features are vague is the memory of her clothes still strong. How it was to be embraced. How it was to lean against her.