Gifts

Cupped in my hands are three things: my grandmother’s soul, my family’s cats cradle, and my memories.

When I open my hands, the cats cradle falls to the ground in a tangle. The memories jewel and streak my cheeks. And grandmother’s soul flies away on the December wind, indistinguishable from the dust of a county road.

Blessings to all of you in the New Year.

Catherine

Originally published at Writer Tamago. You can comment here or there.