“ … although I did notice the mother's face becoming unfocused in the 2-3 minute bed talk sequence with her daughter.”
A moment’s material failure to focus.
Who could comprehend the mother’s face beyond the terms of this flat space?
Or a film in which the mother had not been a good one of her kind but had been inattentive.
She stands in the brown light like an early 20th century machine. Look there.
The mother. The mother. There’s an escape for the mother.
All was offered and given to accomplish no certain end.
Except in her shimmering downward can the icy business now be shown.
The mother now appealing to the simple stars she takes for answers, for flying saucers, for angels.
The son stands apart from the daughter, his sister, while the mother completes her delicate research.
She has learned more about winter. The children may be frozen flags. A short line of similarities such as him to her and back to him.
The mother restates her case. But silently. In the father’s absence. These moments are almost never about the father.
About some inexact projection.