I found my grandmother’s thimble and in it a small piece of tissue with the mold of her finger placed carefully inside.

It is nineteen years since I heard her voice and I do not know how this is.

I found my grandmother’s thimble and in finding it a million happy memories returned. Cool hands made of marble, jam sandwiches and tea. Of a life well lived. Of love tinged with sadness.

I found my grandmother’s thimble and in the background the white noise told me of more bombs, more deaths, more children lost.

I found my grandmother’s thimble placed my finger inside held her hand and cried.