- Vol. 05
- Chapter 01
Come in, come in! We have sorted what’s on sale and put it up front. We’re not selling the letters to my great-grandmother Annie Dunn from her brothers and lover as they fought for the Union in the Civil War. Lots of mud and bad food. Illegible, the ink has faded to the color of blood, we feel we must hold them.
The stack of what we are selling is small. I’m wearing the fifty-year-old Irish wool fisherman’s sweater my mother knit for my father. Excuse the missing buttons.
The furniture from their marriage I can part with because our own stuff has grown beyond our means to keep. Our children’s artwork, the Barbie Corvettes and rock collections, and their Ph. D. dissertations take up space. The children are still alive. Not a day goes by without gratitude for our kids, but we can’t sell their stuff yet. Not without quarrels.
I’d sell that painting of my German great-great grandparents if anyone would pay more that five dollars for this portrait of the glummest people on earth.
As for words the dead said, they hang here somewhere. Maybe the kids will find them when we die.