Daughter, collection, sweetness, heavy pockets 

My mother finds a piece of sea glass in the sand. We are exploring our new neighbourhood. “Look what I found.” she hands it to me gently. Something special about living in the city, and how nature always finds a way to make things beautiful. There are vases filled with sea glass in the dining room. Years of “look what I found”, and “I’ve never seen this colour before”. Now I’m older, and we’ve found all the colours a hundred times over, and when I go to down to the water I am alone. I find myself overwhelmed by images of the past. A lifetime of memories condensed into this one place. It’s beginning to feel as if there’s no space left to create new memories, or the new ones become tainted by the past. I walk past first kisses, heartbreaks, houses I used to laugh in. Buried under layers of memories is the first “look what I found”. I look down from the memories and fill my pockets with pretty things. I remember how it used to be. When my mother was just my mother and I was just her daughter. 

Tumultuous, preservation, something sacred 

We’re chopping garlic and potatoes side by side in the kitchen. She lets out a deep sigh; “Life is easier without men”. She’s jaded. I think I am too. We bond over stories of men that have failed us. We dance, cry, cook, eat, wash. I cherish the smell of garlic on fingertips. I’m older, and I am no longer just her daughter; friends, sisters, women, equals. The unspoken language of shared grief.  Our hands are gentle. Cautiously enclosing something precious. We hold on to the beautiful parts of the past as we move forward into a new chapter of understanding. Preserving the wonder of “look what I found” in this weathered kitchen.