Day 8: wor(l)d building

as i transcribe her old columns, newspaper clippings yellowed with years, flanked by ads for local shops that no longer exist, her persona begins to take form. as if i were sitting at a potter's wheel, coaxing out a shape. as if i were writing a novel, the setting and characters slowly coming to life.
i did not realize i held the power to build a nonfictional world, how her writing, her small stories, would help me recreate things forgotten, the flashes of memory, the mother i never fully knew.