Friday, September 2, 2011

Unasked Questions

I noticed them more and more over time.  Corks.  In ashtrays, on unused planters, next to wine glass coasters.  Lots of corks, in my parents house.  When I visited, I stayed in an upstairs bedroom, and I shared the space with corks.  I always wanted to ask after their origin, but never did.  I assume they were from times of celebration.  I think back; there must have been a story to each cork, and now I'll never know.  I have only my imagination to fill in the blanks.  I didn't ask, and now they cannot tell.  The house is gone as well, the corks scattered to the four corners of the earth, each one holding a nugget of my parents' history.  I wish I'd asked. 

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