My mother's old, dusty handbag,
stuffed with photographs,
all of them black and white,
some pristine, some worn at the edges,
some blurred, some faded,
some looked at more than others,
her family, her friends, scenery,
meaningless to some of us,
memories for her, moments in her long life,
snapshots of personal history,
her story, a treasure trove of self
stored on a high wardrobe shelf.
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