I have very few possessions. Little to connect me to the
life I have lived, the person I've been. Mostly, what is left are words. I have only the
words used to revive the memories, share my stories, connect my present to the
past. There are a couple of totes in the basement. One photo album. A few
random trinkets. Some journals and a folder containing what was once my
graduate thesis. I have some clothes. Mostly thrift store bought and all within
the last year. Three pair of shoes. A couple hats. A winter coat. I have this
laptop (which is barely surviving) and the iPod my son bought me for Christmas
two years ago. The bed I sleep in does not belong to me, left behind by Manny’s
friend, the owner of the house. The desk is mine. Picked up for free at a yard
sale. Wood. Painted white. Like a canvas, waiting to be filled.
