About the work

The red mitten, dropped in the produce aisle, belonged to a small girl named Lily. She had insisted on wearing it despite the warmth, a comfort from her grandmother’s last Christmas gift. Her mother, distracted by the grocery list and a phone call about an overdue bill, didn’t notice when it slipped from Lily’s small hand. The mitten landed with a whisper on the linoleum, a bright spark against the muted tile, and stayed there, unseen by rushing carts and sweeping brooms. It was still there when the supermarket closed, and the lights dimmed, waiting for a hand that would never come back for it.