Years ago, I and my companion were
offered hospitality for the night by a young
man who took us home to his family.
I remember watching his mother standing
at the sink washing spoons. As she washed
diligently, her hands and mouth expressed
the loss of 20 years of love with a sister who was still alive, but who she had cut off. When
their mother died, one sister inherited silver spoons and other other brass. The woman
at the sink got the brass. I was moved by this experience. The impact never left me.
Years later, I learned the young man who offered me hospitality committed suicide.
Who gets the brass?
Who gets the silver?
I choose love.
from a series of writings
called When I Touch You, 1999.
All materials, copyright Leslie Goldman,
Your Enchanted Gardener, 2004