I am ten years old and sitting on my grandfather’s
porch and my mother sits with her sisters and they
are talking about someone named Garnet and
My uncle nods slowly says When thieves fall out
to my grandfather who nods and says When
thieves fall out –
They pass this sentence back and forth a few times
nodding –
Who are they talking about? I whisper to my
mother
who says Shhh. I’ll tell you later –
Dragonflies flit and hover in the tall grass
next to the river which holds its own conversation
with itself –
My mother never told me who Garnet was or
if he were a thief –
All I was given was the stillness of cornfield
summer and the quiet voices on the porch –
– Eugene McNamara
