Find freedom in mundane memories

cassie mclure

There was a sale on potatoes and it seemed like everyone in the family decided to buy a bag. At one point, I opened the pantry and it smelled like my grandparents’ basement, the room on one side that they filled with potatoes in a pile taller than me.

In my memories, there is a small version of myself sitting in a field where my grandparents grew potatoes. I was young enough not to be afraid of insects yet and would find snails, earthworms or mealybugs. I saw my Oma, bent over in a wide-legged pose I’ve only tried to master in yoga, more youthful in image than any memory I have. There is dirt in the crevices of her hands and she prompts me to remember her hands as she cut green beans and tossed them into a worn yellow bowl, scratches from use leaving lighter streaks in certain areas. I can still feel the weight of that bowl and those memory scratches now.

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