My mother left me three things:a ring that fits no finger I have,a recipe written in a hand I can't read,and the habit of standing at the windowwhen I don't know what to do with my hands.
Two of them I keep in a drawer.The third I am doing right now.
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Mara Okonkwo1 October 2026
That turn in the last two lines — two in a drawer, the third you're doing right now — is the whole poem arriving at once. I read it standing at my own window.