My friend Carmen and I each have a story about handbags that belonged to our dead mothers, about opening them to find a hanky with scent or a tissue with blotted lipstick. We cling to small things like these. These things are like the grain of sand in the oyster for a poet. The scent of a person can cling to an object for years and it fascinates me how evocative scent is for memory. I’m also entrigued by the notion of “magical thinking“, how a symbol or token can become the thing it represents or provide a direct link to it.