I would like to apologize to
Mary Kathryn about the silver.
I am sorry. I saw it sitting there on
the table at your son’s garage sale
beside some ugly lamps and a
mantle clock.

The girls standing guard hawked,
“It was our great grandma’s!
It’s never been used!”
when they heard me gasp and saw
my hand shoot out to touch the
tiny flowers.

I am a good woman, I promise you,
with a clean house and
a clear conscience. Your son
is kind; he feeds our cats when we are gone
and brought us a cheddar cheese ball
at Christmas.

He told me it’s your wedding
anniversary silver. I am sorry
I bought it for 40$ at his garage sale.
I am sorry for your great granddaughters’
pimply skin and that no one made them
get braces.

I am sorry for your grandchildren outside
on the porch grumbling loudly to their dad about
a dog and a guy named Fred.
I am sorry not one of them
slapped the box shut saying, “Sorry. This is not
for sale.”

“What was your mother’s name?”
I asked him as I handed him two twenties for
your silver. He looked at me in plain
surprise that I would want to know and
then replied, “Her name was
Mary Katheryn.”