your playing cards in the china cabinet triple depth of ornaments. A
Niagara Falls snowball from her brother collects dust. He’s the one you
once said you’d shoot if so much as his shadow crossed your land. He
never visited again, travelled past at noon or night, to keep his shadow
tail tucked under him. That
ball might have meant something to her brother. She wanted it on spec
while cleaning out of his possessions into the fire barrel’s rounded
black lip. She recounted pulling apart tapes, breaking the magnetic
strip without watching any of it, sure it was contemptible. Yet
she needed a piece of him that was clean as snow, hermetically sealed.
Maybe she fought for it against a sister who knew “it weren’t worth
much”, but would be worth more to both of them if they argued for it.
The spirit of auction excitement must have perked up the shoveling of
books, music notes, letters into flames. auction receipts to get a thing is something