A Memory Quilt

and Hannah Höch

Our first apartment in Chicago soared above the neighborhood. The kitchen windows looked east, over the highway, and if you stood on the table you could check the traffic on I-94. That table was the same one we have now, the old teak import that came to me as a workbench, covered in gummy masking tape. It was, and is, the heart of our home.

In Milwaukee…