It held three pictures--Francie, Alice, and Polly. The three women to whom I'd dedicated my second collection, In The Gloaming. I'd been looking for the photos for a few weeks, since Francie died. I couldn't figure out where they'd gone. This morning, I needed them; the day had come when it was the priority. I had some work to do moving things around anyway, so I put finding them at the front of my mind. As often happens with what is lost, focusing on it brings it back. (I have tried St. Anthony, too, on recommendation. He found me a lost diamond engagement ring, and I haven't dared trouble him again.)
Alice Kirby had an incredible sense of humor. She was the younger sister of my father and his twin. After my father died, she wrote to me and sent me presents every year, weird presents that my friends and I marveled at. Is this what teenagers liked in Florida? These leopard skin bags, these gold belts? I began to count on hearing from her, though, as happens in such instances; I wanted those otherworldly gifts.
|Charles, Alice, and William Kirby|