GREETING Grace Downey
Indiana University South Bend
Perhaps it’s pertinent to bring up my Catholic second cousin leaning over to ask if I want to hear a bad word. Or maybe the ghost of the Grand Kankakee Marsh whispering that I must revive it. No—my grandpa gently lifting up detritus to reveal speckled yellow salamanders to an entranced four-year-old me. The chrysalis I find unattached at the golf course then keep in a clear plastic box until the monarch’s wings come unstuck. My father sinking into the torrentine river every spring to pull up bodies that have no names or faces, only rusty license plates. * Instead I will tell him how my aunt never believes me when I say that bats don’t really fly into your hair. How she calls me every so often to expunge them from her attic, but I’m never thorough. I always leave the cracks in place, so they have some way to get back in.