Ad McCann

This object fits neatly in the palm of my hand and feels deceptively light.  I can flip it over and over with my thumb; which motion creates a satisfying clicky noise due to the round hook secured through a hole at the top.  It appears to be ivory, but it is infact just a creamy coloured plastic.  It has eight smooth sides and an oval centrepiece made from a semi precious metal.

If it were to have a smell, it would be a heady mix of musty church air and Cacharel’s Anais Anais.

It would taste like a holy communion of paper thin wafer and dark red wine, or perhaps my mother’s French savoury pancakes made with ham, mushrooms and a buttery bechemel sauce.

This object was placed under my mattress by my mother when I was pregnant.  As a good luck charm or tangible prayer, it was there to keep baby and I safe.  From matriarch to mother to be; this object was given with a kind, faithful heart yet received with anxious anticipation.