In memoriam

Do we all find comfort in this image of a chipped mixing bowl? I do not know this bowl in particular, but can imagine the feel of it in my arms, how it can be snuggled against the hip, as a wooden spoon beats dried fruit into flakes of buttery flour. I can remember dough rising on a hearth and sticking in one finger to make a bready belly button. Now all it holds is a chain of hearts, and a legacy of mother to daughter memories. A perfect ending.

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