Ghosts, land mines and ancient history: memories of a breakup
I’m packing up, consolidating my house and my heart for yet another iteration of self in this transformation from married woman to single mother; sifting through what to keep, what to sell, what to give away. I remember the faces of each of the women who came to my rented, crumbling home in those first weeks with pots and pans, towels, books for the kid and books for me, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine. I remember them all, and remember what they gave to me in those first, frightening days.
8 Comments