Heirloom Hocked – Sheryl L. Nelms

  I always gathered spring greens with Gram   down by Mission Creek   we would climb those steep banks picking dock dandelion lamb’s quarter sheep sorrel poke weed and nettles   using knowledge handed down from mother to daughter from England and Ireland   now with Gram dead and a mother who got too sophisticated become uncertain can’t quite remember   how many times…

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The Buck – Susanna Rich

When I was ten, Grandmother told me to get her stuffed when she died like the buck head by the door catching webs of evil in his antlers.   She was to be seated in the living room on the sofa (or chair, our choice), facing the piano where I would play Brahms, Liszt and Chopin.   Her eyes were to be open (maybe a…

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