This photo of my mother was taken in 1953.
She was on an ocean liner, headed to Europe.
I remember a writing exercise I did in school.
We were shown a picture of someone we didn’t know and told to construct a story around them.
When I looked at the photo (of a woman with tired eyes standing at a bus-stop, holding her purse close to her chest), I wondered what was inside her purse.
I felt something inside of me unfurl.
I thought: I can do this. I can imagine my way in.
And if I were telling a story here?
I would start with those feet—those shoes–that are to the left of my mother.
Who do they belong to?
What is her name?
Does she know my mother?
That is where I would begin.

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