9 March 2008 | Vol. 8, No. 1

Objects, a History

by MICHAEL S. RERICK

Swiss, great-grandmother says "blood" to the row of the riverboat gently covering its tracks. Father defends their western terms, "I'm no wagon, no horse." Anchored—land, land ho—grandfather's in the motor, radio, hull, in the rain. Aunt J says "he touched it, it's ruined" and pops bread from a bread pan. Uncles talk Canada, a state away, with its good hunting, fishing.

Son-rock, father-rock, etc. Everyone has their own, and an everybody boulder. The married-in feel left out. Ambassadors dust pieces of quartz: "here." Moss gives them value.

The mother Northwest, "particle pants shirt other particles," shirt under coat in flannel. Daughter can only wool. The father underwears with holes. Son replicates grandmother in green and brown (a tree in a snow coat). All say, sweaters.

At the reunion picture sun hits their eyes all silver, a family of robots smiling off in different directions. Thanksgiving ends with the spoon game, eyeglasses removed to prevent glass shards, glasses full of gin. Christmas surrounded by cold windows and the symmetry of grandma-grandp