When you haul out the old photos from the box, they<\/p>\n
lie on the table, faded black and white, names written<\/span><\/p>\n on the back long ago, by someone preparing for the day <\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n no living friends would summon them over for coffee, <\/span><\/p>\n or offer a ride to the beach. Today your grandson looks <\/span><\/p>\n on as you pull up relations like weeds from some long<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n untended garden. He has the easy part, to hold the edges <\/span><\/p>\n still, while you decipher faces, unearth connections. <\/span><\/p>\n His feet, in long purple sneakers, stretch beneath the table.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n One early photo shows his great-grandmother riding<\/span><\/p>\n her husband\u2019s shoulders. She laughs. Even though you both <\/span><\/p>\n know she never did in later life, her small face always pinched<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n and pruned. The pile seems never ending, one old photo<\/span><\/p>\n after another. Early autos. A pony. Someone\u2019s calico<\/span><\/p>\n cat. Domestic scenes. The military. The boy never complains,<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n says nothing, until you come to the photo of him as <\/span><\/p>\n an infant, lying against your chest, both of you with eyes <\/span><\/p>\n closed. <\/span>Look at that, <\/span><\/i>he says. <\/span>We are all asleep.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Published in:<\/p>\n Eclectica<\/em><\/p>\n Oct.\/Nov. 2015<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When you haul out the old photos from the box, they lie on the table, faded black and white, names written on the back long ago, by someone preparing for the day no living friends would summon them over for coffee, or offer a ride to the beach. Today your grandson looks on as … <\/p>\n