A few days ago as I packed and sorted through boxes that I have carried, unopened from house to house, town to town, I discovered my mother’s turquoise jewelry box. Inside a jumble of Fifties and Sixties pearls and pendants, I found a locket. I wondered if I would find my photo inside. I found only a photo of my older brother when he was three, the age when I would have been born, and a cold empty, gold space on the other side. These lines from poet JM Lysun say it all.