One of the women crouches at the edge of the cliff rolling things with shells over the edge. Clams, birds’ eggs, turtles, peekytoe crabs,
My grandmother’s mahogany end table, the other grandmother’s fluted vase, Aunt Marge’s petit point covered side chair, and the O’Connell family Bible, rescued
My mother’s white arm fingers the silver bell, her pale skin marked with brown spots. My hand looks small next to hers. Everyone
Whether we ever touch in again like we did those years we stormed and burned, years that led us to the commitment we made
