November 13, 2006
I'm at Mother's house for the first time since her memorial and I thought of you and Henry when I was alone sorting a kitchen drawer: push pins, rubber bands, used wine corks, too many plastic yogurt containers, all proclaiming presence/absence in the purest way. No self consciousness or declaration of beauty; instead the most modest of objects pointing both to the past and the future: large blue metallic twist ties that came wrapped around broccoli, upholstery tacks from the new leather seat on the old kitchen chair, etc. The heartbreak of a junk drawer.
ps. I'm glad for the demise of the black dress.