SHARON M. CARTER
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SORTING MY PARENTS’ POSSESSIONS
Let’s be blunt. Less reminiscing, more dismembering. Gold photo albums— the happy pair sun-scalded in Ibiza; our history in second-hand cars. Her scarf, three blond hairs. Table lighters, cigarette case— their faint tobacco ache. Suitcased for decades, akin to sanctifying a silver-encased relic. This winnowing, a reluctant preamble to confronting my own gathered life, the whole steak and kidney taste of it. Unraveling memories— every Sunday lunch, broken bone, blind date.
Santa Fe Literary Review
61