My mother’s knickknacks have a dominating place at my parent’s home.
They multiply themselves, probably by spontaneous generation,
because every time I get there, I find out they are more than before.
She spend a quantity of time dusting them carefully, but they are so many
that when she finished, is time to start again.
Once she asked me
“What will you do with my little things when I’m not here anymore?”
I felt uncomfortable and unable to answer
But she understood, she’s my mum, she knows me.
“Don’t you like these lovely Venice glass candies either?”
She insisted hopefully…