Sunoko Desu

Sushi roller
Originally uploaded by Junk Girl (not me!).

In the bottom drawer of the dark cherry wardrobe that stands in my mother's kitchen, nestled between sweet-smelling beeswax candles and soft cloth napkins, lies a nine-by-nine-inch square of wood, air, and dull white cotton thread. This plain bamboo mat is my mother's sushi-roller. Sixty-eight cylindrical staves of smooth bamboo lie side by side in neat rows, orderly as a plowed field. White cotton string winds around each stick in a soft chain, biding them all together at the neck, chest, waist, knee, and ankle. The thread holds the sticks together, and holds them apart; the sushi-roller is a smile of gaps and teeth. Though tightly bound, the mat is supple, and may be laid flat or rolled, like wrapping paper. A few dry, translucent flecks of rice, left from the last time my mother made sushi, cling stubbornly to the flanks of the bamboo. The bleached cotton thread shines against the blonde wood like white teeth in a tanned face.

Antique crockery dwells in the higher regions of the wardrobe. I know where each stack of dishes and each cluster of glassware comes from. The thin china plates and crystal wine glasses were given to my parents when they married. My grandmother won the blue-velvet box of tarnished silverware on The Price is Right. My mother's great-aunt made the lace tablecloths. I do not know where the sushi-roller is from. I know that it belongs to my mother, but am reluctant to inquire any further. I feel as though asking after the origin of the sushi-roller might suggest that it does not belong where I find it.

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