My earliest memory is of a girl smaller than I was dying in my mother’s arms. Or at least this must’ve been my earliest memory, because my mother’s arms, which held the dying girl — the daughter of her friend — and my mother’s hands, which prepared the little girl for burial, always brought me the comfort and the maternal smell I associated with death. 39 more words
Tags » Metonymy
American political institutions love to sit.
Committees have chairs. Congressional chambers have seats. Courts have benches. Presidents have, well, desks.
They also love metonymy, that “figure of speech in which a thing is represented by something closely associated with it” (Drury, … 473 more words