She was called Mary Margaret, and she was your grandmother. You look like her, do you see, around the eyes and above the lips. You smile like she did, sometimes.
When she died I was given some of her things. The big painted platter that comes out at Christmas was hers, and the piano. There is some jewelry, but not much: a ring, a silver necklace, a few earrings.
And the housecoat. That housecoat. I remember curling up in her lap and falling asleep amidst the folds of it. It's hanging in my closet; it still smells of the sea.