with an empty feeling

Moving through the day, realizing about 9 am that I do not have to dress out of my old gardening garb, I slow down, even sitting in a chair on my deck under the shade of the red bud. Six shows and we began to gain a momentum as if the next weekend might repeat, but no we are loose into our own idiosyncratic habitats!
I vow to add committed writing time to my schedule, not just my afternoon escape from the heat reading/writing time, but a before opening the chickens hiatus! Well, it's a thought. I want to work on a poem that has been chasing my thoughts, usually when driving, that hinges on "I was that only one who could tell you apart." My mother's words to which she added the action of switching our birth bracelets. At Turo hospital in New Orleans in the spring of 1945, babies received bracelets which were made of small beads. I have mine still with "baldwin baby B." I wonder if I am really Mary. My twin Mimi certainly looked more like our grandmother, Mary, with her rounder face. Whereas I had the more oval face like our grandmother, Mildred.  I imagine that my mother got caught switching them, swearing that she had them right. Who would care, really. Only for 51 years, Mildred Baldwin has been engraved on the Hayne granite head stone in Metairie Cemetary. 
Identity has been an issue for me; I tend to twin with others. I do think that I married my first husband for among other reasons (that he stood up to  my mother's berating of me, for one) that he seemed to know what he was doing, he had direction. NORTH!