Photo credit: Christian Nakarado
In 2012, a strong wind toppled an ancient tree in New Haven, revealing the remains of two people, a mother and child, who had died 300 years ago. That same year, I buried the umbilical cord of a stranger in the courtyard across the street. The cord belonged to a five-year-old boy whose name I cannot remember now, the son of a distant family friend from Adana, Turkey, the city where I was born. His mother had come to the United States to visit the university she dreamed her son would one day attend. My boyfriend and I had tea with her at my house when she arrived because my parents had insisted on it. I had just drained my cup and was checking my watch pointedly...