The Saving Grace of Spring Rolls
by: Kim O’Connell My mother’s kitchen is small and worn, like she is. Splatters from long-ago meals speckle the walls, in the places her arms can’t reach. The cupboards are packed with impractical pots she never uses, ones she got on sale in the back row of the Asian market years ago. Every counter is covered with sauces and spices, utensils and bags. In the middle of it all is my mother, her back curved like a spoon, her black…