— Casey FitzSimons
You know what creeps me out?
She asks this rhetorically, standing
beside me in the hall, just home from school,
kicking her kindergarten backpack
under the table of family photos.
She answers herself:
Half the people in these pictures are dead.
There’s one of me taken twenty years ago,
and my high school picture, thirty years
before that. She’s right, I think. If it would help, I say,
I could tell you things about them, stories.
You know, Grandma, she says, walking
her lunch bag to the kitchen, for now,