Three framed pictures.
One little ceramic bird from the windowsill.
When I carried the blanket into my apartment, my mother touched it and smiled.
“I made this the winter your oldest brother had pneumonia,” she said.
I spread it over the couch.
It made the room feel less temporary.
That night I helped her wash up at the sink.
She kept saying, “I can do it.”
I kept saying, “I know.”
That became our conversation for weeks.
I can do it.
I know.
