My mother visits me in hospital My mother appears at the foot of the bed making a fine contrast to the nurses. She is beautifully and elaborately dressed. All this furniture, she seems to be saying, is the flimsiest the world offers; these cabinets with their wilting flowers and the water jug and glass, the control panel on the wall like an abstract painting. Nothing matches the crease of her skirt or the gloves she takes off her fingers in mockery of the surgeon putting his on. I shall have my way with my daughter I shall bring her out…