PART 1
The first thing that caught my attention was not the replacement lock.
It was my mother’s Bible, sitting in a brown paper grocery sack on the porch, its cracked black cover warped from being jammed inside too quickly, too roughly, as though it was not the final piece I had left of the woman she had been before sorrow and fear taught her to choose ease instead of honesty.
Then my nursing shoes came into view.
Then my three neatly folded scrub sets.