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27 CATCH AND RELEASE My฀mom’s฀mom฀and฀dad barely฀spoke฀to฀each฀other. Their฀fights฀smolder฀silently behind฀our฀family฀snapshots from฀the฀sixties฀and฀seventies, as฀if฀every฀Christmas฀were฀a฀tree฀on฀fire. Death฀didn’t฀bring฀them฀closer.฀His฀heaven is฀silver,฀like฀the฀inside฀of฀a฀thermos, or฀the฀fields฀of฀lower฀Rainier, while฀hers฀is฀radishes฀cut฀to฀look฀like฀roses. Nothing฀I฀can฀say฀is฀fully฀true.฀Every฀family holds฀its฀secrets฀until฀it฀turns฀blue. One฀thing’s฀for฀sure:฀blue’s฀not฀the฀word for฀their฀black-and-white฀hands,฀held,฀hers฀in฀his, for฀a฀camera฀in฀1940.฀They’re฀posed in฀front฀of฀five฀dead฀fish,฀but฀these฀can’t฀serve as฀metaphors.฀Instead฀I฀want฀to฀know฀more about฀the฀luminous฀wall฀behind฀them: whose฀house฀was฀it?฀Was฀dinner฀delicious? What฀time฀did฀they฀turn฀in? ฀ ฀ ฀ ฀฀฀฀฀So,฀1940: after฀dinner฀they฀climb฀the฀stairs฀to฀a฀guest฀room. No฀one฀knows฀it’s฀there;฀it฀just฀grows as฀rooms฀do฀in฀dreams.฀I฀want฀to฀watch฀them from฀above.฀I฀want฀to฀hold฀my฀breath฀and฀watch my฀grandparents฀make฀love. ...

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